Seven. I love seven. At seven, Little Boo can actually let me indulge in an almost hour-long bubble bath without interruption.
Well, almost without interruption. He did feel the need to let me know, through the door, that he was going downstairs to pee. In the "other" bathroom. The one he hates. Because of the spiders you know. (He saw one down there once.) So, two things - at seven he has the whole guilting mom thing down pretty well, and, at seven he needs privacy to pee.
I didn't feel the guilt. My bubbles and my book protected me. So there!
At two or three, if I managed to get into the bath with him in the house and awake, he would inevitably track me down in there. Then he'd start stripping and announce he was getting in with me.
He didn't get the whole privacy thing then. Not even a little bit.
From 4-6 there'd be at least one trip in to use the loo while I soaked. And generally multiple requests for me to get out. To get him something. To play. Anything that would get my attention back.
Daddy's attention never really seemed to cut it.
I must be pretty special.
But now, at the ripe old age of seven, Little Boo has more important things to worry about, like video games and Lego and his chapter books. So Momma's finding time for herself again, as he needs me less. And less.
That's a good thing, right?