It's so funny to me to see comments about how hard it is to believe that women poop, that hot chicks don't poop. Especially when I think about an experience I had at Target. I had just had gallbladder surgery the week before, six months after having my first child. For some reason, if you are susceptible to gallstones, it is not uncommon for a woman who has just had a baby to start having gall bladder attacks. Once I realized what it was, and knowing that my mother and aunt had their gallbladders removed, I knew that was to be my fate as well. What I did not know was that the ability to hold my number two until a convenient time went away with my gall bladder.
I hadn't been to the bathroom to let a load off since before the surgery. The doctor and nurse told me that this was to be expected since I was on the hydrocodone painkillers -- to be slightly constipated is normal after this type of surgery. And constipation was nothing new to me, so I was not alarmed.
So, on my first shopping trip after the surgery, my six-month-old daughter and I went to Target. I wanted to buy her some things and to just look around. I was on short-term disability and was feeling kind of frisky; why not, I said, let's go shopping.
On arriving, we stopped for a snack at the snack bar. I watched my daughter engage everyone with her infectious smile as she ate her fries. After we ate, we left the snack bar, got a shopping cart, and walked on down to look at clothing. My stomach rumbled, which was weird since I knew I wasn't hungry. I ignored it and continued looking while my daughter laughed and jabbered away. I was about wheel us over to view the shoes when a severe cramp hit me. Suddenly I knew I had to get to the bathroom immediately. I felt something hot and unnatural at the edge of my pucker about to burst hole. I tried to clench my butthole shut, but the hot sludge was determined to ooze on out. I was caught totally off guard.
Another ailment that I had after having my daughter was what I referred to as "stress pee." If I have to pee I can hold it for a short while; but if I am under any kind of stress the pee says, "We got stream on out… sorry, babe." So not only do I have a rectum full of hot liquid magma, but also a bladder full of hot pee. I felt my underwear starting to get damp, and the urge to sputter off some hot mustard was some kind of fierce.
Now, it is very hard to wheel a cart with a baby while trying to do the pee pee dance and the poo poo dance at the same time. Since my daughter is so beautiful, everyone who sees her wants to stop and say hello. I didn't want to be rude, but I was trying not to look like I had to pee and trying not to dookie on myself and trying not to run people over with the shopping cart in the process. I think I did run over some other shoppers' toes on my mad dash to the restroom. I can only imagine what I looked like, some deranged person dragging her legs, frantically trying to reach the facilities. I saw the snack bar people throw me a concerned look as I rushed past them to get to the ladies room.
As I reach the restroom I realized that I could not wheel the cart in there. Drat! I was desperate at this point. I could feel the shit oozing into freedom and I just prayed to God that I didn't let a stream of poo or pee run down my legs. I had on a light colored sundress (all the blasted luck!) and I was sure I was going to ruin it.
But back to my dilemma -- what was I going to do with my precious baby girl? She was only six months old, so she couldn't walk, though she could sit up. But the cart was not going to go through the bathroom door; and even then, how could I leave my beautiful baby outside the stall where anyone could steal her away? I would shit myself before that happened.
It was to be so. As I felt the pee about to let free, I grabbed my baby, rushed through the bathroom doors, madly grabbed some paper towels, ran to the stall with the baby, spread the paper towels on the floor, dropped the baby on them as gently as possible, and somehow squeezed my legs enough to not let pee and diarrhea fly. I pulled up my dress, flung myself on the toilet seat (no time to use the seat covers), and let loose. I was peeing from my butt and my bladder, I was crying, but baby was on the floor, giggling away -- thank God.
I was utterly disgusted with myself at this point; I could not believe that for the first time in my life since being potty trained I actually shat myself. Curse you, faulty gall bladder! The doctor and nurse said nothing of this! As I was letting the yellow and orange bile fill the toilet, I took a glimpse at my underwear. They were wet with pee and quite a bit of burnt umber sludge in them. I gingerly eased them on down my legs and wrapped them in toilet paper, planning to dispose of them in the trashcan once my communion with the Target toilet was over. As the volcanic eruption from my anus subsided, I breathed a sigh of sweet relief. It could have been a lot worse.