Plumbing problems

When I was in the hospital after having Joshua I was in pain. And then I had a meltdown over my “soft GI” diet of meatloaf. And the nurses kept loading me up with Percocet at regular intervals. And Colace. And gas pills.

Lots and lots of gas pills. Chewable ones. And they stuffed a supply of Colace and gas pills into my overnight bag when I checked out. Where they were promptly forgotten about once the ceaseless baby screams began.

It seems having your intestines placed outside your body and then replaced back inside it has a way of 1) giving you major problems with gas and 2) moving around all the poop that’s stuck in your shoot so that it gets even more stuck. And Percocet counteracts the effects of the gas pills and Colace.

WHO KNEW?

If I had known what was coming, I would’ve gladly scarfed down nothing but soft foods after having Joshua. And I would NOT have forgotten to take the Colace. Or the gas pills. Regularly.

Because y’all–it took me two weeks to poop after I had him. (Oh yes, I’m going there.)

Two. Weeks.

I was miserable with the not pooping. Miserable, I tell you. And Joshua? Was a freaking pooping machine.

I think I was a smidge jealous.

Until I finally pooped. And then I never wanted to poop again.

I’d managed to get the screamball to sleep and I was managing to enjoy a moment of free arms.

“I think I have to poop,” I announced, which is a not-uncommon announcement in this house.

And I went nervously off to the bathroom to wage a battle with my colon the likes of which I will never forget but wish I did not remember.

I sat down and grabbed a magazine. And nothing much happened. So I gave it a little effort and then? Then it started happening.

Oh, boy did it.

And it got stuck. And too…uh…solid…to pinch off.

Believe me. I tried. But no. There was no half-done and come back later to finish the job.

So I pushed. And nothing happened. So I pushed again. And harder.

At this point, I had abandoned the magazine to the stack in the basket. The supermodel smile of fake happy from the cover taunted me. I scowled.

I grabbed the corner of the vanity for leverage and I pushed like I imagine I would have if I’d had Joshua the good old fashioned way. I breathed. I wished there were stirrups. I was all arms and legs reaching out for leverage, butt firmly planted on the toilet.

I felt like I looked like that scene in Dumb and Dumber only without the viscosity and sound effects.

In the moment, I realized the hilarity of my situation, as painful as it was. Though perhaps only funny to me.

And I kept pushing. And sort of laughing. But the laughing had the opposite effect I was going for.

I pulled myself together. I put on my game face.

Finally, with one last bearing down, it was free. VICTORY.

I exhaled.

And then I looked. Because I’m either disgusting or weird or both. And there in that toilet was what I can only describe as having the same circumference as a soda can.

That is the only moment where I felt the teensiest bit of happiness over having had a c-section.

Only a little, though.

Two days later we had to rent a toilet snake from the hardware store to unclog the pipes.

Things with my plumbing, both types, have never been the same.

And next time I won’t forget the Colace.

This week’s memoir prompt asked us to recall “The first time I ________-ed after ________-ing.”

I believe the first that I chose is obvious.

And hopefully it made you laugh at with me instead of scramble yourself to your Google dashboard to unsubscribe.

I hope.