Thanking the gods that the beast is OUT. Onwards to an ice cream sandwich (ie ‘refilling the tank’)


Loose, runny poop has always been a big part of my life. In my last job, I had explosive diarrhea every single morning before going into work. So all that talk about pregnancy making you constipated? Pshaw. I am shitting like a CHAMPION, better poopin’ than I’ve had in my whole life. Because it’s true pregnancy (and all the iron tablets I am taking) bind you up – but in my case it makes the soup-poop into lovely manageable chunks that are actually identifiable as human.

My mother told me she was sending me fiber bars and that I should ‘watch out’ as they will make me unable to leave the bathroom without risk of shit dripping down my legs. I told her (yesterday) that I eat plenty of fiber, the poopin’ is good, and my ass is generally feeling very happy.


Well, last night. I semi sort of possibly needed to poo, and I tried a few times. By ‘tried’ I meant sat on the toilet without pushing, as I am afraid of the deadly pregnancy hemorrhoids which I have managed to avoid. But over the past few days I’ve noticed that my nice seizure poop pains leading to a quick, easy, and satisfying poo have morphed into needing to ‘give it a chance’ and just sit.

Nothing happened last night. At four am I tried. Twice.


So today while waiting for the doctor, I was afraid to poop because I was beginning to suspect I would need to make a major time commitment to the toilet and didn’t want to miss his call. Luckily, he called at about 1:15. After a quick chat with him, I thought I had plenty of time to Give It The Old College Try before Joy rang at at 2:15. So I plopped down at 1:40ish, cracked open a Reader’s Digest (also compliments of my mother), and tried. I sat for …. well, forever.

I felt it ‘crowning,’ and then it got stuck.

My friend, Opposite Gender Soulmate, once told me an unfortunate story about a friend who had her poop get stuck, culminating in her mother bringing a lettuce crisper into the bathroom to hold behind her butt as she changed positions. You know, in case the poop decided to fly free.

Bitch, I needed me a lettuce crisper the size of Kentucky.

I am not proud of this, but I thought I had better ‘check’ what was going on. So I took a few pieces of toilet paper, folded them nicely against each other, and then reached around and felt my asshole. Yes, it was big. Alarmingly, the right side was bulging in such a terrifying way that all worries of ‘roids jumped from my mind and I pictured myself accidentally shitting out my intestines.

At this point, I can hear Dr. Phil is winding down and that means I’ve got about fifteen minutes before Joy calls. I begin slowly rocking back and forth (hip pain loves me!), side to side, eventually the poop-exhaustion forcing me to just lean my forehead against the wall and wonder why the universe didn’t love me anymore. Then I grunted out, ‘FUCK IT’ and began to push like a fucking crazy poop pusher. Of course, I prayed I wouldn’t poop out the babies during this time – I’ve had some worrying fluid leaking which I think is just a constant piss tap that never turns off since I have no pelvic muscles worth anything anymore, but still.

And I felt the bulge begin to move. My bottom must’ve dialated enough to push out a bowling ball, and this very very very dense, solid, but sludge-like mass crept out of me at a snail’s pace. After that initial giant poo, I squeezed out one more little poo – and then stood up to look at it. The ‘little poo’ was so wide around a porn star couldn’t have fit it in her mouth. It was so long that it was sticking out of the water by about three inches. And it was black. Black, black, black.

Dr. Phil was long done by this time.

The clock was ticking.

I decided enough was enough and I needed to be satisfied (though I wasn’t, oh no, there was still more poop to come out) and begin wiping. What a fucking nightmare. I got sludge on my hand, used about half a roll of toilet paper, etc. It was like I was wiping an actual piece of shit (I might have been) that just kept slowly oozing out as opposed to meaningfully cleaning my ass.


Good times.


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4 Responses to “Thanking the gods that the beast is OUT. Onwards to an ice cream sandwich (ie ‘refilling the tank’)”

  1. Tatiana Says:

    dudette, i did not even read this post and my stomach is upset šŸ˜›

  2. CJ Says:

    I don’t know if I should laugh or toss my cookies! You crack me up! When I was pregnant, I would turn the waste basket upside down, put my feet up on it and it gave me much more leverage to push! I do the same thing with my daughter’s legs when she has problems going. Try it, it may work for you!

    • existere Says:

      I WILL try it. I’ve got a nifty mini stool in the bathroom where TMD perches to hold my hands (don’t ask) when she’s home, and I reckon it might do the trick.

  3. Tia Says:

    This may beat the burger king story. I love you.

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