Poop.

The subject line is pretty indicative of the post content. So if you're squeamish, stop reading.

This morning The Girlfriend and I were getting ready for work and OHMYGODCRAMP and i was buckled over on the bed, squirming, trying to get some relief from the pain in my lower abdomen. I would compare the cramp to early labor cramps, the kinda-sorta-um, am I going to have a baby in the next couple days? kind of cramp. I spent about eight minutes writhing between positions, going from fetal to my knees curled up to my chest to yoga positions to lying on my stomach to stretching backwards as far as I could go (and that one produced tears), and it hurt. Badly. I started counting back and it has been nine days since I pooped. Nine. NINE.

Unfortunately this is not abnormal for me. This is actually enTIRELY normal for me. It's just rare that a cramp takes hold in that manner. Typically my stomach gets a little crampy, and then something happens in a couple days. But not today. Today, I thought I was going to die and started thinking that maybe The Girlfriend and I had created some lesbian miracle, some super science baby and that on top of that, I had gotten through nine months of pregnancy with a total weight gain of five pounds and no symptoms, and that I was going to deliver a baby on the clean sheets. That The Girlfriend and I were going to be rich and that hope would be given to women everywhere. And then reality smacked me in the face when Emily came in and asked me to button her pants.

Now some of you will say, well, just take a laxative! And I will cheerily respond with a polite "fuck no" and go on my way. I've had so many bad experiences with those things that I can't even keep track. Without going in to disgustingly explicit detail I will say that a combination of inconvenient timing, irreliable consistency and sheer panic has made the entire laxative experience one that I will never ever go through again.

We get home from work and The Girlfriend is going on about how she is going to go buy me something. Some elusive something that will make it better. I made a promise to begin taking fiber regularly, opened the door and went upstairs to set CandyLand up for Emily. I realize that The Girlfriend is not in the house and wonder where she is. A few minutes later she comes up the stairs with five metamucil pills, two prunes and a large glass of water. Since I know we don't have any of this in the house, I figured out that she WENT TO OUR NEIGHBOR'S HOUSE to get these items.

Yes. She went to our neighbor's house, explained that I can't poop, and came back. Now, the neighbor has been a friend of hers since high school, her husband is amazing, her infant is full of mushy baby goodness and her other daughter is one of Emily's best friends. So it's not like it was a complete stranger. But still. It's a little embarrassing. Next time we go to dinner, I can just hear the conversation, "So, Melissa, how'd that fiber bar work out for you? Everything coming out well?"

I'm busy sending labor vibes to a friend in New York. People, send me some poop vibes. And don't time those vibes between seven and four tomorrow, as I'll be at work and while normally I am totally a work pooper, I really don't want to be this time.

Goodnight, internet.