Shit Baby

Your body is weird right after having a baby.  At least mine is.  You have lots of giant blood balls coming out of your vagina for the first 6 weeks, all day.  They look like you are giving birth to a miniature, bloody alien.  Your boobs are enormous boulders leaking and spraying dairy product all over everyone.  You are a homicidal maniac who wants to divorce your husband if he even looks at you wrong or coughs too loud.  And your shitting routine is all over the place for a while.  Right when I left the hospital, I was not shitting at all.  Then it turned into light shitting every two hours for a month.  Now I am, as we like to say in my house, “Filling The Bowl”.  Which means exactly what it sounds like, the shit is coming out ferociously like thick throw up out of my asshole, and it is filling up the toilet so much that it has surpassed the water line.  I am very excited that I am now in the enema stage, because my figure is getting back to normal pretty fast.

                                                              

But the problem is, this type of pooping is a bit stressful, because it is pretty much like giving birth through your butt.  And just like when you are in labor, you don’t want to be touched, you want silence, and you are overall in an agitated state.  So the beginning of the enema pooping began Saturday night.  Luckily my newborn was asleep, but my 2.5 year old just finished his dinner and was ready for his nighttime routine.  He was pretty pissed that we hadn’t gotten the bubble bath started, so while I was giving butt-birth, I had to turn the bath on and get the bubbles going.  Then he became impatient with seeing the fun bath there, and not being able to get in.  It didn’t matter that I was in ass labor,  I had to undress him, take his shoes off, etc. and put him in the bath.  Now remember, this is all DURING me sitting on the toilet, sweating profusely, feeling faint, and throwing up out of my butt.  After about 5 minutes in the bath, my son got bored, and demanded I get in there with him.  Which, I do every night.  That’s right.  I bathe with my son. Naked. Every night.  I really look forward to it too.  And I will miss it when he gets to the age where it is too weird, like around 13.  (j/k).  Anyways, I felt bad that I could not get in there with him yet, and he began to whine, “Mooommmy, Get In!!”, so I told him to grab one of the bathy books we have in the toy corner of the bath.  I proceeded to read him an Elmo book, a counting numbers book, and a color naming book, during the birthing shit process.  I was moaning in between sentences, grunting, wiping the sweat off, hanging my head down in pain, frantically bearing down on the shit baby, and talking in an Elmo voice for my son.  Elmo has never sounded more pitiful and horrifying.  After the books got boring, he wanted me to play with the toys and make a toy baby pretend to dive into a toy boat.  That got boring, so we had to give his froggie a bath by shampooing his plastic froggie head. This went on for 15 more minutes.  At the end of the laboring and delivery process, I estimate I gave birth to 10 pound quadruplet shit babies.  After using half the toilet paper roll, I got off the toilet feeling slightly faint and sick like I had just finished running a marathon.  I was glad I could help my son have fun throughout the process, but I was really just looking out for myself. Because if he had cried and yelled in anger from me ignoring him, it would have woken up the infant in the other room, and who the hell knows what would have happened then.  I probably would have ended up tracking shit all through the house trying to calm everyone down.  But the real person to feel bad for in this situation is my son, Griffith; I sat in the bathtub, naked, with him after I was done.

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