Tough Days
It's been a tough couple of days for a few people I know, so I've decided to bite the bullet and make some of you laugh...and most of you cringe.
As alluded to in previous posts, I have had a few "potty" accidents in my day.
When I was little, I would wait until the last minute to pee so that I didn't have to miss any time playing with my trucks in the sandbox behind our house. At second :59, Ma says I would come flying down the hill with a muddy bottom, bowl cut blowing in the wind. I would never make it in time.
When grocery shopping with Doug a couple of years ago, I tooted and suddenly thrust the basket in his hand. I whispered to him, "I just sharted. Doug, there's poop in my pants! Meet me at home!"
When I was pregnant, I remember treating myself to a diner omelette dinner. Walking back with 3 blocks left, my pants very nearly filled. My knees will be forever imprinted with each other. I could barely get out my keys.
But nothing compares to the fateful day 5 days after Oliver was born.
Doug was in the shower and I was holding Ollie. I was burping him and walking around the house inspecting its cleanliness - Doug's parents were due to come in that evening and I was really proud that less than a week post-partum, we actually had time to clean up the house. Oliver was starting to doze and it was the first time that I remember thinking that I could really do this whole parenting thing. I walked into Oliver's nursery and felt a toot coming on. I let it go without thought to the bran cereal I had ingested two mornings in a row (it's my FAVORITE!) and the two stool softeners I had had in the past 24 hours. In no time at all, I felt a little wetness running down my leg. "Wait - wha - WHAT?!?" I screamed. Doug scrambled out of the shower thinking something happened to Oliver and came upon me, standing on our son's floor rug, holding Oliver out in front, swearing up a storm with shit running down my legs. I took one helpless look at him, wordlessly tossed Oliver into his arms and clambered into the shower with Doug yelling, "Get in with your clothes on!" I'm not proud of this, but while in the shower, I started getting really angry with God. Pardon me? I had just gone through the most traumatizing experience of my life! I wasn't getting any sleep, I was still stitched up and could hardly move, I was trying to figure out what this baby wanted from me, my nipples were beeee-roken and now I just crapped myself in front of my husband and newborn son? Hours before my in-laws were going to arrive and silently judge my new Mama skills? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I started sobbing uncontrollably.
And then I heard from the other room, "Blurg!"
And I started to laugh.
I got out of the shower to find my husband scrubbing at the rug with Windex, gagging quietly so as not to embarass me further. He looked up at me and said, "Please, honey, no more corn."
You'll be happy to know that the rug was cleaned (with an appropriate cleaning agent) turned so that the rocking chair covered the offending area and that the Turks never knew a thing.
Until now. :)
So, I guess what I mean to say is that if ever you feel like you're having the worst day possible, please remember that you could be scrubbing your own adult feces out from between your toes. Or you could be scraping your wife's poop out of the shag with a Brawny. Maybe that's an instant day-brightener.
As alluded to in previous posts, I have had a few "potty" accidents in my day.
When I was little, I would wait until the last minute to pee so that I didn't have to miss any time playing with my trucks in the sandbox behind our house. At second :59, Ma says I would come flying down the hill with a muddy bottom, bowl cut blowing in the wind. I would never make it in time.
When grocery shopping with Doug a couple of years ago, I tooted and suddenly thrust the basket in his hand. I whispered to him, "I just sharted. Doug, there's poop in my pants! Meet me at home!"
When I was pregnant, I remember treating myself to a diner omelette dinner. Walking back with 3 blocks left, my pants very nearly filled. My knees will be forever imprinted with each other. I could barely get out my keys.
But nothing compares to the fateful day 5 days after Oliver was born.
Doug was in the shower and I was holding Ollie. I was burping him and walking around the house inspecting its cleanliness - Doug's parents were due to come in that evening and I was really proud that less than a week post-partum, we actually had time to clean up the house. Oliver was starting to doze and it was the first time that I remember thinking that I could really do this whole parenting thing. I walked into Oliver's nursery and felt a toot coming on. I let it go without thought to the bran cereal I had ingested two mornings in a row (it's my FAVORITE!) and the two stool softeners I had had in the past 24 hours. In no time at all, I felt a little wetness running down my leg. "Wait - wha - WHAT?!?" I screamed. Doug scrambled out of the shower thinking something happened to Oliver and came upon me, standing on our son's floor rug, holding Oliver out in front, swearing up a storm with shit running down my legs. I took one helpless look at him, wordlessly tossed Oliver into his arms and clambered into the shower with Doug yelling, "Get in with your clothes on!" I'm not proud of this, but while in the shower, I started getting really angry with God. Pardon me? I had just gone through the most traumatizing experience of my life! I wasn't getting any sleep, I was still stitched up and could hardly move, I was trying to figure out what this baby wanted from me, my nipples were beeee-roken and now I just crapped myself in front of my husband and newborn son? Hours before my in-laws were going to arrive and silently judge my new Mama skills? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I started sobbing uncontrollably.
And then I heard from the other room, "Blurg!"
And I started to laugh.
I got out of the shower to find my husband scrubbing at the rug with Windex, gagging quietly so as not to embarass me further. He looked up at me and said, "Please, honey, no more corn."
You'll be happy to know that the rug was cleaned (with an appropriate cleaning agent) turned so that the rocking chair covered the offending area and that the Turks never knew a thing.
Until now. :)
So, I guess what I mean to say is that if ever you feel like you're having the worst day possible, please remember that you could be scrubbing your own adult feces out from between your toes. Or you could be scraping your wife's poop out of the shag with a Brawny. Maybe that's an instant day-brightener.
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