So Yeah. I almost Shit My Pants Yesterday.

by Cookie

You know why it sometimes takes me three days to return a phone call or an email, Bitches?  Because babies that’s why.

I know all you fellow moms out there will be able to relate, especially if you are also working outside the home.  Before I had babies, I simply could not understand why it was so difficult to pickup the goddamn phone and make a dinner reservation, or tell me if you were coming for dinner Friday night, and make an effort to chat for a few minutes about something that is not your children.

So yeah.  I could sit here and explain about how the very second I pick up the phone or sit down at the computer to do some work, the little people descend on me like piranhas.  The whining starts.  The crying starts.  The one year old attached to the leg of my pants holds on tighter. I can’t hear you anyway, so why would I bother to speak to you on the phone?

Instead, I am going to tell you a story.  A story that explains the way that motherhood leaves you without a shred of dignity from the moment of childbirth when twelve people are staring at your vagina telling you what a good job you’re doing, to the day you are so busy and overwhelmed that you almost shit your pants.

Yes, Bitches.  That was correct.  I almost shit my pants yesterday.  Not in the figurative sense. In the very real way of holy fuck I am NOT going to make it in time.  And then I’ll be standing here with my babies and the dogs running away and shit running down my legs, because sometimes, being a mommy is really shitty.  Pun intended.

So yesterday was a supremely whiny morning.  Buddy has been waking up way too early and then spending most of the day bitching about it in baby speak.  Which means I have to carry him everywhere, even though the little stinker can walk just bloody fine.  Destroyer was in the mode of “repeat what she wants 100 times in a row until it magically materializes.”  I could feel my blood pressure rising.

We had plans to meet friends at this ass hat thing called Ride N Play.  You pay three bucks, and the kids can run wild while you find another mommy to bitch about your life to.  There’s a craft and bikes and toys and a bouncy castle and its a couple hours of YES.  I’m even smart enough to bring another Mommy.

So we’re hanging out at the craft table and I get this sudden urge to go take a shit.

First of all.  I only ever shit in my own house.  Maybe my parent’s house.  Not even Bestie’s house.  So I’ve gotten pretty good at holding it over the years.  NO Problem.  It was better than trying to shit at the community center.  Could you imagine?  Trying to take a dump in a public stall, with two toddlers crammed in there with me.  Trying to manage them crawling under the door and acting like total assholes while I am paralyzed by fear of another person walking in and knowing that I’m taking a shit?  OMG.

It was getting time to go ( as in leave)  and that was good, because it was getting time to go.

So we get home, and I say to Destroyer, “go right in the house, because Mommy has to use the bathroom.”  Should be simple, right?  Open the door, go upstairs, take a shit.

The problem, for all of you non-parents out there, is that nothing within the parameters of parenthood is linear.  Nothing.

She pokes her way into the house, and stands right in my way,  leaving just enough time and room for two of the dogs to sneak out the front.  I guess they had to go too.  Then Destroyer follows them back out, and I am holding Buddy and trying to chase them all inside.  All while squeezing my butt cheeks together so fucking hard, I’m pretty sure I now have a fucking hemmerrhoid.

I finally get them all back inside the house and drop the diaper bag and sprint up the stairs.  I put Buddy down, and he immediately starts crying.  And I’m almost crying because I’m trying to pull off my underpants in time because I seriously cannot hold it any more.

And I made it.  Because as a mommy, you always make it work.

But you know what?  This putting everyone before you crap is going to end in disaster someday.

So, the next time you are upset that someone who is a mother isn’t doing things on your timeline, please take a moment to give her a fucking break.  Because babies.

And then be thankful that you can take a shit anytime you want.  Without an audience.