I Shit You Not

I have the stomach flu.

It sucks.   We are also right in the middle of a move to another house.  My timing, as always, is impeccable.

Get married…get the flu.

Plan a trip to Paris…plan on going to the ER, my ear drum painfully bursts.

Moving to a house…moving to the toilet.

I should of known trouble was a comin’ when I pooped my pants.  Pooping my own pants was someting I had not done for, I don’t know, 34 years.  We have been so busy though preparing for the move that pooping my own pants barely registered on the radar.  I didn’t have time to worry about it. I just thought to myself, “huh, that’s weird. I just pooped my own pants.”

I then told Ettore I pooped my pants.  Again the only response was, “huh, did you clean it up?”

I did.

Normally, in my pre-three boys days, pooping my own pants would of been cause for alarm that big trouble was just around the bend and that something wicked this way comes, but these days I simply don’t have time to think about it. I cleaned myself up including using some of Lucas’ baby wipes, scooped up the baby and we headed out the door to an appointment at the new house.   I did however bring my own roll of toilet paper, as the new house is vacant.  Could you imagine if I got sick during the walk through?  I shudder at that uncomfortable conversation.

“Hey, good news.  The toilet works. Does anyone have a box of tissues?”

I think as a busy Mom you just keep going, like the mailman.   Not sleet, nor snow, nor rain, nor a drippy ass, will keep you from running the household.  Except I did get stopped.  Right in my tracks.  By 9:00 p.m. I was in the fetal position begging for mercy.   What caused this?  Was it the margarita machine at my friend’s bbq the night before?  I only had one.  Did I over indulge in the bean dip?  I don’t think so, I was on my best buffet behavior.  I don’t know where I picked this up from, but all my participating in the move has stopped and I feel terrible.  Lucas has been shuttled off to Grandma’s for safe keeping and I am holed up in the bathroom.  Every time I think I am better, one sip of Gatorade or water sends my right back to the restroom.  It is so bad that Lucas is now not the only person in the house in diapers.  I sent Ettore to the store for an emergency pack of Depends. 

Reilly was very concerned for me when he came over last night, concerned but also intrigued.

“Do you poop when you laugh?”

“Do you poop when you cough?”

“Do you have to poop right now?”

“If I made you laugh, would you poop?”

Which then transitioned into talk of other bodily functions as our conversation often does.

“Have you ever laughed and farted at the same time?”

“Have you ever coughed and farted at the same time?”

“Have you ever pooped and threw up at the same time?”

“Have you ever sneezed, threw up, and pooped at the same time?”

I was starting to laugh and I had to shut down the bodily function discussion rather quickly or we were going to have a hands on lesson.  We decided to resume the conversation at a more appropriate time, like dinner when we have company. That’s when these topics usually surface.

So here I sit, in Depends, as the world turns without me.  No coffee, no food, no problem.  Coffee, food, BIG problem.

Hey, at least I lost five pounds.

Sick.

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