Did your Mother ever suggest an enema, but leave the decision to you?

Some time ago, I answered the first question in this post. But what if my mother had given me the choice of whether I want an enema? I don't know what I would say as I would like to have an enema, but I would be ashamed to admit it.

Like most of you/us, Mom never suggested!!! It may have SOUNDED like a suggestion, but it was inevitable…thank Gawd.

When my mother decided an enema was necessary, the thing went through. My protests ended with me always finding myself at the wrong end of the bulbs or nozzles.

Only in the case of misconduct did I have a choice: spanking or a big punishment enema.

My choice always fell on the enema.

As far back as I can remember we were asked daily” Did you go today?” which meant did you poop today. If it was no for 3 days in a row it meant enema time and we had no choice in the matter. If she figured out we were saying yes that we went and we were not being honest it meant enema time. Never could figure out how moms have that special sense for detecting honest answers or not. As I got older and started enjoying the feeling of the enemas then every three days or so the answer to the poop question was no I didn’t go today. Don’t recall her ever asking if we needed or wanted an enema, it was a given event that was going to happen. Another sure clue to enema time was the bag hanging on the hook on the back of the bathroom door. If it was hanging from the shower curtain rod, it was drying from a recent enema but the back of the door meant get ready, it’s time. Thank goodness for Mom!

Nope.

Once the decision was made (3 day rule) there was no discussion. There was, however, only one occasion when I was given a choice. We were at our summer home, I was about 5 years old (early '40s), and sick in bed with “something”. Looking out the window I could see and hear my friends playing while I grew grumpy after several days in bed. Mom came in to give me some nose drops as I complained about my current status. She said “you know a good cleaning out with an enema would help you get better quicker. It's your choice". I told her no, to which she said she was going out for a bit, to think about it and I could decide after noon. Even at that stage of my life I was fascinated by yet feared an enema. Mom was not the best enema giver cuz they hurt do to an overly fast delivery. Oh my gosh…I did want the enema but…. I had to make a decision. Well, she was back around noon and I was listening with all ears for sounds of an impending enema as she went about the house when she came into my room asked how I was, took my (rectal) temp and asked if I had made up my mind about the enema. After much mumbling I finally said ‘If I can give my Teddy bear an enema then ok’. Shortly, the dreaded sounds of enema preparation were in motion and my fate was inevitable. I was called to the bathroom, saw the swollen bag hanging from the towel rack (lower than usual) and received a somewhat pleasant and comfortable cleaning out. Afterward I was given the empty bag to give Teddy his enema and that's all I recall since I quickly fell asleep and when I woke the bag was gone. Bummer!

As hard as these times were for me, I still like to look back; of course with today's attitude towards enemas.

My mom was very consistent and strict when it came to that. Once decided, implementation usually followed immediately; it was only a matter of minutes, then the bulb was sunk into me.

I would have liked to have heard her encouragement, or a gentle caress over my buttocks...

das Today my wife and I like to play out such scenarios. It's very exciting and always ends with great sex. But it's a game, and nothing like the days gone by; these have unfortunately vanished in the haze of history...

I had a caring and good mom... ♥️

The summer I was 12 I had extensive abdominal surgery at a children's hospital. The night before surgery I was given a Dulcolax suppository rather than an enema. Oh well, I had to go anyway, so I immediately pooped. The nurse came back and said I hadn't held it long enough an gave me another one. It still didn't do anything but was nasty to expel with all the cramping. They gave me another one before discharge and I had to use a bed pan which was also nasty.

After being home for several days mom said I should try and poop. I had no urge at all. She said she may have to give me an enema. She gave me until the next day, or there would be an enema. I didn't want that, I was entering puberty and that is the last thing I wanted. The next few day she fed me prune juice and stewed prunes, it worked. My mom wasn't thrilled about giving big kids enemas either.

when your mother said she was going to give you an enema, there was no escaping the treatment...

For the life of me I can't remember what my mom said... what I do remember is sitting for a time on the john, and then hearing my mom call out "any luck yet'... next I would would be the sounds of the white metal pot being filled with water and going on the stove - the water was heated and Ivory flakes mixed in to make the super strong bulb enema she's instruct my father to give me.

When I was a kid, when my Mom said I was getting an enema that was it. No amount of arguing or pleading would keep it from happening. She never gave me a choice.

There was a choice I miss that…..

No, ne ver wanted on and never had a choice