She wasn’t sure she was going to make it.
The split second she needed to gauge the footsteps – the leaps that would take her further from her pursuer and closer to an escape – that fraction of time might have made the difference.
Her pulse was throbbing in her ears. Could he hear it?
He would catch her again, this she knew.
She could hear his short, shallow breaths just feet away. He wasn’t watching. Not yet. But if she moved, if she made any effort to change her position, he’d be there in a flash.
She decided to go for it.
Uncrossing her legs, she leaned quickly to the left and sprinted up the stairs. Three, four, five steps to make it on the landing, then a quick juke to the left. Through the doorway – there it was! Freedom!
A door slam away.
She twirled around, grabbed the handle. Began to propel the door forward, but too late. Too late.
He was with her, grinning maniacally. He knew he’d beaten her, he knew she was caught.
As did she, so she sat down to pee, defeated, and handed the toddler a roll of toilet paper to unravel, resigned to her fate.
45 thoughts on “Pursued”
That is hilarious and I am laughing so hard because I tried several times today to pee alone and failed each time. Great writing!
Thank you! I composed it in my head on the potty. Yeah.
I wish I could tell you it gets better – but my son will be 11 in twelve weeks and he still needs to “ask me something REALLY important” just as I sit down to pee…
Love how you wrote this 🙂
OMG – did I write 11 in twelve weeks??? DUH – I mean in three weeks and he’s playing with his sister right now, so I think I’m gonna go pee 😉
Why is it that the men get their privacy though? So wrong.
Hahaha!!! I’ve given up trying. It’s pointless. WE NEVER WIN.
Ever. Not fair. 😦
Ha!! Love the handing over the TP. As if an activity will prevent them from just standing there. Staring at you.
Right? Quit looking at me, dude!
This is perfection!! I still have races with my 10 and 8 year old daughters and we have three bathrooms. We all fight over the closest one to the front door. This is just too funny!!
Three bathrooms. Sigh. Maybe I’d have a better chance at hiding out!
Hilarious. My favorite bathroom story was the first time I saw my daughter sitting on the toilet nursing her baby. I laughed and laughed as I reminded her she never let me go to the bathroom without her!
I’ve done that before. Sigh.
I feared for your life. Then I feared for your privacy.
Hahahahah. That comment was better than the blog post.
This was fantastic!! I know the feeling all too well. Except that I give up- three vs. one are just crappy odds.
Yeah, you’re screwed.
I was on the edge of my seat! Not the toilet seat, thank goodness.
Here, it’s the shower. “mama, are you done?” Yeah. I’m done. Now go away so I can dry off!
Are you ever alone with that many people in the house? Man.
Bwahahaha. I can so relate. He hasn’t plopped himself in your lap while you’re sitting there? Cuz, yeah, in our house that’s how we roll…
Haha, no, that would be interesting. He likes to come in and ask for his toothbrush. I think he wants to be a dentist.
We will never pee alone again, will we?
What a sad thought. 😦
I love it – and know the feeling. I’m so impressed you could run from him in your pregnant state 🙂
Round ligament pain be damned, I was determined to grab a few minutes to myself. Fail.
Yes! Perfect! Written with accurate precision which only multiple experiences can provide!
Haha. I wrote it in my head while on the commode trying to entertain my captor. 😐
Not so much, really! 🙂
Ah yes. The toilet. The phone. The computer. As soon as you show interest in another object (even inanimate) they want your full attention.
Even at fifteen years old, my son likes to hover around and listen to my conversations with friends…
The only way to get rid of him is to say this (and I’m not even kidding):
“Okay. I’m going to talk about my vagina now!”
He’s out of the room like a shot. Works like a charm. But I wouldn’t recommend saying this to anyone under ten.
Yeah, because under ten it’s 20 questions about your bagina.
AAAAHHHH, I love it! Who could it be?, I thought. A rapist? Murderer? Abusive husband? But a toddler. Now, that’s genius.
I adore my little tormentor. But I’d really like to pee alone.
Um…I don’t know how my previous comment somehow links to a blog that’s not mine, but there you go. Not mine.
Haha, I just tweeted you. I edited it so it links back to Catharsis. 🙂
Ha, awesome! This made me smile.
I’m glad. 🙂
Oh my gosh, do we live in the same house?! Awesome!
::SNORT:: I think the way you’ve tagged this post is my favorite part. Love it, Julie!
I’m giggling so very hard at this. Where is the radar in our children that alerts them to our bathroom use and how can we disable it? I promise you that no matter where I am in the house he doesn’t care (usually) until he hears the squeak of that bathroom door. I try to do it slowly, but…no. Guess what, little boy? I don’t need to hear “good job” from you and I certainly don’t need to hear at other times, “you stink mommy.” Because you wouldn’t know how mommy smells if mommy could use the bathroom alone. Why can’t you just sit mesmerized by whatever Elmo is selling like all the books say I shouldn’t let you do?
Hilarious. The elusive attempt at peeing alone….so….very….elusive.
In catching up on my reader this morning, you have made me “awww,” cry, wish it were lunchtime, reflect, and now I’m LMAO. This is BRILLIANT. (And I hope you all are doing OK. It sounds like it’s been a stressful couple of weeks, to say the least. *hugs*)