It’s been a while since I’ve updated this blog. It’s not because I haven’t pooped since May. I’ve pooped loads. It’s because I got pregnant, but that was a good thing. I was waiting for my three months to clear so I could share with you my pregnant-body colon stories. How during the first four weeks of my pregnancy, I had no idea I was pregnant, and I had no idea why I was always feeling tired, or why I was so bloated, or why I had to pee three times during the night, or why I was so constipated. It’s normal for me to be constipated a couple days at a time, but two weeks without a poop in sight was concerning. So I peed on a stick, and it told me I was with child. This was very exciting. I started taking prenatal vitamins and eating healthier. My poops came in waves. Some days I’d release a mudslide of poo. Other days I’d push out a shriveled turd. And there was the farting. I farted so much. The amount of gas my butt was producing was incredible. And it smelled terrible. There are things your friends warn you about when you become pregnant. Farting is one of them. So is the constant need to urinate. They also talk about the constipation. What they don’t mention is the sharts. I had to wear a pantyliner to catch my buttspray. Before you blame my wiping skills, let me tell you I am a very thorough wiper. I wipe until my butthole is chafed and that toilet paper looks like it’s never been soiled. It’s definitely not my leftover poops shooting into my underwear. My pregnant farts were made up of gas and liquid poo. Even on my constipated days I could drop my pants and see a glistening Hershey Kiss waiting for me.
I should be six months pregnant by now, but I’m not. I lost the baby, and I haven’t been able to talk about it until now. I was so excited to share my pregnant poo adventures with you after my first trimester. Having a baby grow inside you does some messed up things to your butt. I miss that. I even miss the sharts. I miss the nausea and everything that hurt while pregnant. Mostly I miss the little guy that would’ve been my son. Maybe one day I’ll be lucky enough to experience a full term pregnancy and share those poo adventures with you. Until then it’ll just be my immature self reporting to you about someone letting out a fat nasty wet bean fart in yoga (which totally happened last week, and I was the only one who laughed).