|my new band. I think it’s fitting, considering.|
There are plenty of things that can come out of a woman’s mouth that can be found by the opposite sex to be completely unattractive. I suppose it just depends on the type of person you are and how kinky you’re willing to get.
“I have an STD”
“I’m on my period, and MAN it’s heavy”
“What am I chewing on? Well, tobacco of course”
“I have an unhealthy addiction to eating boogers”
But in my opinion, there is one that trumps all of those.
“I can’t shit”
The one word many women find absolutely terrifying, especially after having children: Constipation- and we ALL KNOW WHY, don’t pretend. And the one thing most men don’t even want to acknowledge that woman do: Poop.
Now they not only know that you DO in fact shit, but that it’s stuck inside of you like a tootsie-pop, and do you think they’re going to want to lick to get to the center? Um, no, I think not.
In my twisted little world, i’ve learned to find the subject of poop hilarious. There’s so much shit coming out of asses in this house on a regular basis that if I DON’T laugh it, I will be suffocated by its overwhelming properties. Everybody poops, right? It’s a healthy and normal bodily function, I just happen to be healthier than others…
Until Saturday. All systems STOP. I started feeling what I thought was nausea, maybe a delayed hangover of sorts (even though I hadn’t had that much to drink and had felt great all day) until I went to the bathroom and attempted to re-stock the lake with brown trout… and nothing happened. I pushed, I squeezed, I may have even strained a little… and nothing.
Puzzled. Usually when I have to go, I have NO problem with going. In fact, it’s STOPPING the going that is more the issue for me.
The only other time in my entire life i’ve been constipated is while I was pregnant, and upon calling my OB and telling them of the peril I was currently in, I was told to flush some water up my ass. I decided the pain was the lesser of the evils, and since I was already gigantic with baby, the bloating wasn’t so bothersome.
This time, NO baby, but holy fuck I could have fooled people. As the night wore on, I started getting more and more swollen. Uncomfortably, painfully swollen. So large that I easily could have passed for 16 weeks pregnant- only what I was carrying didn’t have a pulse.
If there’s ever been a time someone wanted to tell me that I was “full of shit”- that would have been it.
I got so big and so round that if I had auditioned for the part of Violet Bouregard in “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” I would have landed it.
I started begging for the Oompa Loompas to roll me away and JUICE ME, because with each attempt to force something out of my ass, the pain only increased.
I thought for sure, given my history of poopy-nature, that by the next day this problem would HAVE to resolve itself. I thought wrong. It only got WORSE. The suggestion of a self administered enima started to not sound so horrible, or it couldn’t be any less horrible than the discomfort I was currently experiencing- but I went with Miralax instead. If the poop wasn’t going to come out on its own, I would give it a little greasing.
By this point I was positive i’d have some movement in the colon department. I’d tried a fuckload of home remedies, i’d tried pushing, and now I was essentially forcing the bitch out- it HAD to move.
I started to panic. You KNOW when you have a cannonball sized shit building up inside of you. I fear that by the time I finally got this shit (literally) out, I would tear myself in half.. or bleed to death from my ass. And considering i’d taken the poop-mover at night, and had a doctor’s appointment in the morning, I feared the shit would wait until then to decide to make its way down the pipe and THEN what would I do?
And let me tell you, it didn’t help that I had Hotty McDoctor putting his hands all over me and PRESSING DOWN. I could not honestly answer him (or make eye contact) when he asked me if lately I have had any bowel or bladder problems. In the past week, I have both pissed myself AND not been able to shit. I.am.so.hot. Maybe all the pressing and squeezing on me should have helped. Maybe I should have shit on the physical therapy table. Maybe then the naughty thoughts about a torrid affair with a rich doctor would have been dashed away by pure humiliation… but no. No shit. Come to think of it, perhaps i’m more like Augustus Glump: “don’t poke me, i’m full of chocolate!”
So what did I do? I rushed my congested ass home, brewed up a pot of coffee, decided to go balls to the wall on my insides, and poured the miralax directly into it.
Did I realize that this could be a potentially messy situation? That perhaps I was tempting fate? That maybe I would explode poop all over the house, and who would clean it up?? But it was worth it, because I had begun to feel like if poop wasn’t going to come out of the correct end, it would come out of the other. And that would be the most UNSEXY thing ever to happen.
Can you guess if by now I have pooped or not? I bet you could guess and be right.
The answer is no. NO RELIEF. And I am huge, angry and uncomfortable. I need to give birth to this poop baby ASAP but it just isn’t happening for me… and when it actually does, it may be so satisfying that I will blush once it’s over.
Y’know, all this talk about poop is making me want to poop. It’s only too bad that I can’t.
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