Poop and Perfection

I went back and forth on writing this post.

For two reasons.

One because no one talks about it. But I have received so many messages from so many of you appreciating my posts – because I tell it like it is, remain real, and share everything.

Two because of my friend. My friend who is kind, wonderful, good, loving, brilliant, strong, the picture of perfection – might be scarred forever if I do. So I will share it with her before I post and get her blessing.

Here we go. Balls to the wall.

This post, is about poop. Not dog poop. Not baby poop. But full on. Poop. The poop we don’t talk about. Before living with someone you cannot imagine what it would be like to share a bathroom. How? When?

Then you move in. And, silently, it all works out. Then the cat poop comes up. And the dog poop. And once you have a kid – forget it. 99% of the conversations are about poop.

But still – we never talk about adult poop. “I had a stomach bug” “stomach ache” “was sick” “went to the bathroom.” But besides the text chains amongst you and your girl friends. No one is talking about their bowel movements.

But I do.

I woke up Monday, the start of our staycation – “The Week of Us” and thought I was dying. Sharp pains and cramps in my insides. I was close to going to the ER because something just didn’t feel right. Wrote to my tried and true text group of not one single doctor friend. Shared the symptoms and we all decided I was not dying, just needed Gatorade – and life would go on. Sweet, because Nathan and I had “plans” for this week. And it was really fucking time we get to those plans. It had been far too long.

Ultimately, I’m not dead – alas, the advice was not sound. And my stomach was sour all day. And yes. That means poop. So much. The explosive kind. The kind that makes you think – well that’s it, there’s nothing left. But…ha ha – just kidding. There’s so much left – you’re never leaving the bathroom again. You live here now. So get comfortable.

Long story short. It lasted 24 hours. I woke up today (Tuesday) and thought. Ok. I can do this! Let’s go on a road trip. A few hours in a car. To a house that isn’t mine. It’ll be just fine.

Well. Some of that was true.

What wasn’t true:

⁃ It didn’t last 24, it lasted much longer.

⁃ I couldn’t do this. I stopped at every possible rest-stop/gas station-bathroom along the way.

⁃ A few hours in a car was a terrible idea.

⁃ I probably should have for-warned my friend – and gotten her go ahead.

Nonetheless. We did it. We got here and I was ready to take full advantage of the house.

And the 7 1/2 bathrooms.

And I did. Within the first hour. I hit four. Not because I was ‘hoping to hit them all’.

No. It’s because I had to run to whichever was the closest.

So. The main floor became my bitch. I am not proud. Not happy about it. But it happened. Out of respect (and possibly timing) I stayed far away from upstairs – the family floor.

What also happened. Was. I got scared. Very scared. You see. This house. Is. Perfect. I mean. Picture perfect. The kind you see in Home and Garden. The kind you see in Martha Stewart type magazines. (I presume. I don’t subscribe to any of this. I hear print is dead). But. My intestines were not agreeing with me. At all. And there were moments where I was screaming to Nathan “I can’t find the bathroom.” “Where’s the bathroom I was just in?” “Find me a fucking bathroom now!!” And running through the house over pristine white rugs and carpets – not sure I’d make it to the bathroom in time and going through that conversations in my head.

House rules included:

⁃ no shoes in the house.

⁃ be careful with red wine.

But understandably – There were no rules focused on this topic. How in the world do I bring this one up?

The night before we left for this over-night Nathan said – we’re obviously not going anywhere. We’re not leaving our home, going somewhere else so you can sit in the bathroom(s) there and shit yourself all day.

Well, my dear. We did. And I did. And here we are.


I didn’t crap on my friends white floor. Or white bed. Or white bath mat. Or insanely expensive, marvelous white couch. Though it was touch and go there a few times.

And it was still incredible to get away. And be in a home. With a pool. And a hot tub. And more than two rooms. And no babies. Or dogs. Or cats.

But it sucks that so much poop was involved. And so much of what should have been involved wasn’t. Because based on Nathan’s understanding of anatomy. “If you put something up there. The pressure will make something come out of here.”

Guess that’s good news. One less bedroom to clean my dear friend. Thank you for giving us your home for 24 hours. You’re a better friend than you ever knew you’d be.

Please, please invite me back.

I promise not to poop on your floors.

Almost a Full Rotation Around the Sun

A few days late. Maybe delaying the inevitable, not ready to accept what it means. Or maybe life is just insane. Either way, what I think about right now, in this final month before these two turn one, are a few simple things.

I truly cannot fathom that we’ve almost come to one full rotation around the sun. Preparing for this last month a few things strike me. And since it’s too late for me, I’ll share my own experience as unsolicited advice for any of you at the early stages of this journey. I wish a few things. Knowing now, that it all happens so fast, and knowing this was my last round of firsts. I should have smelled and stared at them just a little bit longer. I wish I pumped less and cuddled more. Not that I cleaned TOO much, but I wish I worried less and enjoyed more. Thought less, felt more. Planned less, was present more. I know that none of us are made of money, but I wish I had said yes to certain things. This is not the time to worry about money. Splurge on the newborn photos, buy the adorable bunny hat. Put down the phone (ironic, I get it). Accept help and kindness from others. Pay strong attention to your partnership. That’s the love that got them here. Massage it, spend time on it. It will get you through the tough nights.

Lastly and possibly most importantly – give yourself a break. We all do the absolute best we can with what we’re given. We are all way, way too hard on ourselves – so be kind to you and, Love Love Love.

Happy 11months to them.

And to us.

And to the best big sister I’ve seen.

I’m tired. Definitely poorer. A little less sane. But so deep in love and happiness.

Breastfeeding Week

The journey of breastfeeding is not one to be taken lightly, or for granted. Yes it is natural but no, it is not easy. Many of us struggle. Many of us stop. The truth is – a happy mom is the number one priority in a child’s life.

I struggled immensely with my first. There were tears, there was pain, there was exhaustion and lots of hours attached to machines. Ultimately I pushed through. 18 months with my first. Twins came two months later. And now almost 11 months in this round I’m still at it – though the journey is soon to meet its ultimate fate.

But this was not done exclusively. There were bottles and there is formula. Lots and lots of formula for the twins. I learned early on fed truly is best.

I feel lucky and honored that I was able to provide for my children but I’m also glad that I was able to resist the societal pressure of breast is best.

Happy breast-feeding week to those who choose to do it and to those who chose not to do it. Those who choose to feed their babies in whatever ways shapes or forms keep their entire family happy, healthy and sane – keep going mama!

To those struggling because of the stigma attached to not breast feeding/formula – please know we stand in solidarity.

We are all good moms.