I Shit Myself So What!

To all the women who shat themselves and probably don’t even know

So there I was the other night, sitting outside with my husband, having our nightly talk. Naturally, that led to the conversation—should we have more kids? Which, of course, spiraled into rehashing the birth stories of the two we already have.

Now, my second daughter’s birth is the one that always makes me laugh. Everything was going fine. Epidural was doing its holy work (praise be to modern medicine, am I right?). I couldn’t feel much except one very urgent sensation: the undeniable, unmistakable urge to take a shit.

So, like any logical woman about to push a human out of her body, I did what had to be done. I looked my nurse dead in the eye and said, “Hey…ummm…I either gotta shit or push.”

Then it happened.

We locked eyes.

She looked at me.

I looked back.

It was a staring contest for the ages. Then she sighed, took this deep breath, and finally said, “You can’t push. Your doctor’s in the middle of a c-section.”

Ma’am. What?

I laughed in her face and told her, “Well, he better hurry, because I’m pushing.” And push I did. Doctor made it back just in time. Happy, healthy baby. No harm done.

Fast-forward to the other night on the porch, reliving that beautiful moment. My husband, in his infinite husband wisdom, leans over and casually drops, “You know you did actually shit yourself, right? I just didn’t tell you at the time.”

Excuse me? Sir?

Then he added, “I mean…i didn’t see you actually shit, but you definitely shit. it would have been extremely weird if I was looking at your whispering eye as you pooped, but I promise I didn’t see.”

And honestly, that’s marriage in a nutshell: bring life into the world together, shit a little in the process, and years later laugh about it while pretending to garden.

So yeah, I shit myself. So what!

Because here’s the truth they don’t put in the parenting books: birth is messy, primal, and sometimes a little funny in hindsight. We bring entire humans into this world with our bodies, our grit, and apparently, our bowels. And if a little shit is the price of admission? Then hand me my crown, because I earned it.

So here’s my battle cry to every mom who’s ever been there: shit happens. Babies happen. And we survive it all, beautifully and unashamed.

Stay Weird. Love You. Mean It.

Photo by Claudio Schwarz on Unsplash