I had great fantasies about creating this blog. In the back of my mind I kept hoping someone of relative importance would fall upon it and kind of throw a Pulitzer my way, or at least I could snag a segment on the Today show.
Alas, I doubt any of that will happen. Plan B was kind of a "celebrity-based" blog. Just kind of posting about famous people and gossip. Nah, overdone. And I most definitely did not want it to become a "mommy blog" because believe it or not, I am more than a mommy. Although it may not seem like it these days...
In reality I guess it will just be a "me" blog. Random posting about things that interest me, annoy me, or happen to me - as if anyone gives a crap, huh?
This rambling all leads up to what I will attempt to compose today. A little diddy about pooping. Or shitting. Making #2. Lovely, right?
I am not a big pooper. I was not blessed with a regular constitution, as they say. Sometimes it would be a couple of days before I would visit the toilet for anything more than a relieving urination session. And when I'm pregnant? Well you can forget it honey because I barely see any action from my colon. And I do not discuss the act of pooping if I can help it. Now my mother on the other hand will raise the window and shout to whomever is listening when she has had a successful bowel movement. Nothing pleases the woman more. And knowing how much it disturbs my father just encourages her to be as vulgar and graphic as possible, and she includes a soundtrack. So don't ask her, because she WILL tell you, in great detail, about her poop. To her it's like an Olympic (see how I just made this relevant to current news?) event. I also do not expell gas if at all possible. Especially not in front of people. I would rather have my head chopped off. I live with three men. Two of them find it highly amusing to make noisy bodily functions (and don't EVEN get me started on my dog). The third has no control over it yet, and I'm not hanging that over a 5 week old's head. Anyhoo... My point is, I go through a lot of effort sometimes, and have suffered through many horrible stomach pains to spare my male family any knowledge that I do in fact have to poop at times. I go to great lengths to disguise the act of shitting. I used to rely on the bathroom fan to block out any (God forbid) noises that emerged from behind the closed door. Because with the size of my house, I may as well drop trou in the living room - yeah, it's small up on this bus. Now my beloved fan has died. A scary burning smell wafts down from the fan when I turn it on now, so I leave it off for fear of lighting up the house in a firey blaze. My mother has suggested a radio. Well with the lack of space to put anything, I would have to suspend the damn thing from the ceiling. I could run the water, which I do, but then I feel horrible about wasting water just so I can throw off my suspicious husband who is probably just glad I have left the room and doesn't care what the reason is. But it is the sheer AGONY and MENTAL ANGUISH I deal with when I even suspect a poop is coming on. Is it worth it? I don't know.
So I ask myself, is it safe to poop or not to poop? THAT is the question.
And now I bid you good-night.