![]() ![]() “I’m sure it happens all the time.” Despite my forced confidence, though, I couldn’t quash the nervousness. “They’re professionals,” I told myself coolly. My logical mind, of course, poo-poohed this theory ( get it? Poo-poohed?). There’d be a poorly-suppressed snicker here and there. They’d gag and plug their noses and exchange disgusted looks. Everyone would immediately begin to look shocked and horrified. And suddenly … *cue rumbling fart noise* … it would happen. I created an entire horrific scenario in my head and replayed it over and over: I’d be lying there with my knees to my chest, my goods on full, glorious display under a glaring spotlight, with a plethora of medical personnel standing around (including a student doctor who looked just like the timelessly hot Jake Ryan from Sixteen Candles). I mean, I heard someone fart in my Zumba class once and nearly had to leave the room because I couldn’t stifle the laughter, and I consider myself (mostly) mature. But when it came to watching me poop, I couldn’t possibly imagine them taking it lightly. I fully trusted the hospital staff to save my life, and my child’s, if things went awry during delivery. No big deal? NO BIG DEAL? Bare-butt pooping in full view of a roomful of virtual strangers – not to mention my husband, who I hoped would someday want to have sex with me again? That, my friends, is a very big deal. “What if I shit on the birthing table?” I wailed. It was like one of those dreams where you show up somewhere naked … except then you take it to the next level of mortification and crap yourself. Until that moment, the possibility had never occurred to me, but suddenly it was all I could think about. Whatever’s in there – baby, placenta, last night’s turkey sandwich-turned-turd – it’s all coming out. I had read a line in one of my pregnancy books that said, “Your doctor may ask you to push as though you’re having a bowel movement.” And so I thought, “So what stops you from actually having a bowel movement?”Īnd then, with a chill, I realized that nothing stops you. And to me, it looked a lot like shoving an overstuffed pillow through the neck hole of a sweater.īut oh, the blissful days when the vag was my only concern! Because after it occurred to me that holy mother of mortifying moments I may actually shit on the birthing table, I lost a lot of sleep. ![]() Isn’t everybody, especially when you’ve never done it before? You just have to imagine the logistics. Sure, I was worried about what birth would do to my lady parts. RELATED: Lamaze On The Couch: Your Go-To Guide To Online Birthing Classesīecause when I was pregnant with my first son, I was frightened, petrified, of one thing: pooping during childbirth. However, there was once a fear – worse than a zombified roach catapulting from a biscuit-y cannon – that I was forced to stare straight in the eye. (Seriously, if that sudden pop! doesn’t startle you, you’ve got nerves of steel.) But those are all things I can usually avoid. ![]()
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