Did your Mom ever seem annoyed at having to give you an enema?

I have one or two fuzzy memories from childhood, maybe age 5 or 6, of my Mom seeming annoyed or inconvenienced at needing to give me an enema. This was kind of distressing because normally she seemed indifferent or matter-of-fact, but not annoyed. I never got an enema as any sort of "punishment", I don't mean annoyed in that context, but they still felt like a punishment because I think my mom lacked finesse or skill with them and so they hurt a lot. Or maybe I was just overly sensitive.

In one very vivid memory, I remember hearing that I was getting one (she was always trading enema and family constipation details with my aunt by phone, particularly about me, my sibs and cousins), but this time she kept putting it off. I didn't get it right after she hung up the phone with my aunt. She even let me go outside to play with my friends. I didn't get it before dinner or immediately after, either. After dinner was cleaned up, my brothers and I went into the family room to watch TV. I still hadn't gotten the dreaded thing (they weren't pleasant for me at all) and I thought I had gotten some sort of reprieve.

Let me admit upfront that I do remember being constipated a lot when I was little. My mother did try various, less unpleasant methods to help. But, none of these other things (prunes, applesauce, prune juice, spoonfulls of nasty mineral oil, etc.) worked very well with me. I always ended up getting an enema any way, either from my mom or from the nurse at the doctor's office.

I could hear my parents murmuring to each other as my brother and I watched the original Batman and suddenly my Dad said loudly, "Well, why didn't you give her the enema yet?" He said it in a booming, irritated voice to my mother, which was unusual. I shrank into the couch cushions because I was totally mortified and it was obvious they were talking about me since I was the only other child-age 'she' in the house at that time.

She got pissed at him then and shot back, "Ok. Tom, I will" or something like that and she got up and went into the bathroom and started banging things around noisily and made a production (or so it seemed) of getting it ready. I really felt scared and upset then because I didn't like the enemas to begin with.

They hurt and embarrassed me and made me feel badly in general and all I could think was now my mom was mad at my father, and me, and I was shortly going to be over her knee trying not to cry again from the cramps (my aunt and mom were into the large, "3H" bag enemas) and trying not to leak.

My Dad would never have been anywhere near the bathroom when one of his daughter's was in it, but I wanted to ask him to come in with me. I remember looking at him when she called my name, and wishing he knew that I was scared, and that he would see my fear and intercede and say I didn't have to go to her. But, he didn't. When he saw me standing there looking at him, waiting for him to rescue me, he instead said, "Go on. You heard your mother."

We did not back-talk to my father. It just wasn't done back then, not in our house. He absolutely never hit us, but Dad was the law, the final word. He could veto anything my Mom said, but he rarely did when it came to the kids. My brothers and I would sometimes back-talk to my mom, but never to my Dad.

"But, Daddy, I, I don't want...” I started to say, but he cut me off.

Instead of rescuing me, he took my chin in his hand and made me look at him.

"Right now, honey", he said, using his 'there-is-no-discussion-about-this', no-nonsense voice. I wanted to burst into tears, but my brothers were watching, so I just blinked the tears back.

"Yes, Daddy," was all I could say, head down, like a silent, brooding penitent’s. I slowly headed toward my mother’s aggravated and irritable voice.

Things are so confusing, so deeply puzzling, when you’re a kid. I have no memory of what happened after leaving the family room and my Dad’s firm gaze, but I shudder to this day just thinking about that night.

Has something similar ever happened to any one else? Any input as to what may have been going on between my parents that night? They have both passed away now, which is irrelevant anyway, because I would never have been able to ask about it.

I would rather have dropped dead in my tracks, than say that word in front of my Mom, especially if it concerned me getting one.

No, it was always at mom's convenience, however, which meant in the afternoon when the housework was done, and before dinner was started. That's how I finally figured out that is was all about sex.

I only remember one enema when my dad was at home, and I think that was when I was recovering from the mumps. My did is 92, and to this day I'm sure he has no idea how often I was on the receiving end of the enema bag.

As a young child (3 to 5), if I'd been sick for more than a few days, my folks always thought that an enema would be good for me. It was usually in the early evening, and I would hear my folks discussing whether they should give me an enema. If they were discussing it, I knew I was going to get one. My mother would come and get me out of bed, and take me into the bathroom and have me lay on a thick terrrycloth towel on the floor, generally naked, as I remember it. The warm Ivory soap suds enema was in the old red bag that my mother hung on the back of the bathroom door, from the door knob. My mother was always very gentle with the enemas I got, and if I was the least bit uncomfortable, she would stop the flow, and let me relax just a bit, before giving me more. Although I was too young to recognize the enema as a stimulating sexual experience, I never minded receiving them, and always thought they felt kind of good. Having the vaseline coated black enema nozzle put slowly into my bottom felt good as well. I guess it was because of this very positive experience with enemas as a child, that led me to try them solo when I went into puberty. Been enjoying them ever since.

I don't recall mom ever being annoyed when it was time for one of her "good" enemas. In fact, I believe mom truly enjoyed her role as enema-giver. She was a regular user herself, and didn't hesitate get out the bulb or family bag for just about any reason. That's just the way it was back in the 50's. She would sometimes scold me for not asking her for an enema sooner, but would never rush me through the procedure. That woman gave a good enema.

Like redbulb I don't remember mom being annoyed when she determined that I needed one of her treatments (wash and rinse). What annoyed her was that when I knew that a treatment was in my near future I wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. I would keep asking when she was going to treat me, tell her i was ready or just run around the house naked below the waist.

This all ended when I started school and I knew that a treatment was going to be an after school event. Milk, cookies and an enema. Happend about twice a month.

Moms enema routine. "In your room, bottoms off or just take off your bottoms, I'll call when ready". I listened to mom in the bathroom and could tell she was getting my enema ready. Then come in the bathroom I'm ready, then I'm still waiting. " If I have to come and get you, you won't be happy. By that time I was at the bathroom door looking at the red bag hanging from the medicine chest and mom holding the nozzel in the ready position. She pats her thighs, over my lap now! Lets get this over with. My cheeks are parted, nozzel in cheeks held tight together ( Mom never lost a drop of water) it all went in. Enema started, soon I was begging, then crying."You'll just have to take it all or get another enema. Finally, its over no more water, stop crying. In a minute or two I'll take the nozzel out and you can go.

I remember Mom getting edgy once. I was around 11 or 12 at the time. What prompted this ill-will so to speak is anyone's guess, but I have a semi-idea. Mother had previously given me many enemas, but for some reason had stopped a year or two earlier and had resorted to giving me Castoria instead. I absolutely hated that stuff. Mom knew it but kept right on giving it to me. Finally, I had had enough, and I started asking Mom to re-start giving me enemas instead. Finally one Saturday morning, Mom woke me from a sound sleep and took me into the bathroom where I found a prepared enema waiting on me. Mom gave me 3 that morning I recall and before she gave me number 3 she murmured "I don't understand you Mike! Children and their enemas! I just don't understand it!

Nope, never happeneed with me. I only received enemas from my mother after I had been ill for 2 to 3 days......hence Mom was always sympathetic to my condition. Back in those days (the late 40's), an enema was always the cure-all for whatever was ailing me. The warm Ivory SS enemas while lying on a towel on the warm bathroom floor were always gentle and non-threatening......just slow and relaxing, which I suppose is why I still enjoy them to this day.

Any enemas my mother gave me were as an infant. I don't remember them.

From learning all I can about her, I understand she had very mixed feelings about getting enemas from her mom, and often seemed annoyed at getting them from her grandmother.

When I was five and about to enter school, the nurse told my mother that I had to have my tonsils out. My mother's brother was a doctor and lived about 100 miles away. My mother and I visited him for a few days and I had my tonsils out. After a couple of days I hadn't had a BM and it was announced that I needed an enema. This was highly embarrassing to me and I rebelled nosily. I really admired my cousin who was a few years older than me and my aunt, who was also a nurse, offered to have him hold the bag. This turned an embarrassing situation into a disaster! By this time, my mother was very annoyed with me. I don't know who was left holding the bag (pun intended) but I had my enema.

Heck yeah! I think she was always annoyed. I grew up at the tail end of the enema-as-a-cure-all generation, so enemas weren't part of any household health routine. They were just used as required, primarily for relief from constipation and sometimes to reduce a fever as those were the days before Tylenol.

My mom may have been annoyed at giving me enemas at first, but as time went on, she enjoyed giving them to me. In fact, many time after giving me an enema, she would cleanout the bag, refill it and give herself an enema. Later found out that she herself was an enema fetishist.

I, remember another incident on the same day mentioned earlier. Mom had woken me up from a sound sleep and had taken me into the bathroom beside my bedroom. Once in there I looked up and saw Mom had prepared an enema for me and her Rexall Victoria Combination syringe was full and hanging from the curtain rod over the toilet. I slipped out of the bathroom and hid behind the closet door in my room. I couldn't believe my luck. Mom, being a little bit perturbed hollered, "son, if you want me to give you this enema, you had better come now. If you do not, I am going to take it down and if I do, I do not want to hear another thing about you wanting me to give you an enema." Well, I guess you know what I did. I did not let her take that bag down. It emptied itself inside me, several times that morning.