I really try to keep it real. I’m a Mom. I work full-time. I have 3 kiddos. And self-deprecation is a virtue so lovingly bestowed on me by the simple fact I grew up in a home with more men than women – so from an early age I got used to getting over myself really quickly.
If you remember the Dave Chappell show, then this one’s for you…when keeping it real goes wrong. Really wrong.
The day started as the most beautifully perfect and serene day; 75 degrees in mid-to-late August, a slight breeze, not a cloud in the sky, and my morning emails answered. (Winning!) I had to meet one of my reps, so I headed out on the road. Everything was fantastic, and I even texted my husband how perfect the day was.
I met my rep, we had our meeting, all went well, so we decided to have some lunch before we parted ways for the rest of the afternoon. Yelp is always my go-to when I am in strange towns where I don’t know the local food scene, so I used my trusty app to get us to our lunch location.
The place was called Taters – a baked potato bar where literally the only thing they served was baked potatoes with different toppings. We didn’t have the energy to seek out another spot for lunch and quite frankly I was hangry so we just went with it and made do. We both chose the chicken veggie potato thinking it sounded good and semi-healthy.
We ate our potatoes, talked about the business in her market and we each use the bathroom three times. In the hour and ten minutes we were in the restaurant, we each used the bathroom THREE times. (Just wanted that to sink in)
Within 20 minutes of eating the chicken, mushrooms, broccoli and carrots laced with cheese atop a baked potato, both of our stomachs were churning…to the point where my rep suggests I might not want to use the restroom she just came out of…yeah, that kind of dining experience.
We parted ways. I was headed to our local rec center where they have a bike – something our home gym is currently lacking while we’re still trying to research which brand fits us best. As I’m pulling into our gym, my stomach is doing flips and I’m starting to sweat. I can feel something brewing in this very pissed off stomach of mine.
The walk from my car to the door of the rec center was one of the most agonizing and tormented walks I might have ever taken. In my life. Period. The amount of focus and energy it took to keep my butt cheeks sealed tight was unfortunately lost on my face because the expressions I made as I walked in to do a quick walk-by-non-stoping scan of my membership card told the ladies at the front desk all they probably needed to know, and some.
As I neared the bathroom door, I kept giving myself pep talks; encouraging one-liners like, “you’ve got this” and “only 10 more steps”. I enter the bathroom and somewhere between the main door closing and me locking eyes with the stall, the excitement of relief got the best of me and my mind lost its focus on keeping things down there, um….tightly closed. In that moment of weakness and as I’m screaming – I shat my pants.
So – here’s where I could have totally lied and just said, I barely made it. That was a close one. But the truth is – I didn’t. (I did tell my rep that but if she reads this she will now know the truth) And I screamed because it was one of my worst fears playing out in real life.
Before going further – let me back up. I have given natural birth to three children. But I’m no martyr or glutton for punishment, nor some crunchy granola who believes all women should feel the pain of bringing a child into the world, sparing them of the medicines and blah blah blah. Nope. My reasoning was simple: I’m so freaking scared of needles. Have been since I was young. The thought of having an epidural could send me into panic mode faster than the crap that escaped my Fort Knox closed a-hole earlier this afternoon. Even thinking about it now, I get goose bumps and chills. So, I’m no Saint. I’m actually a total coward.
I only mention any of this because with my third child came the added bonus of a pelvic hernia…something I dealt with almost his entire pregnancy. Bladder function in general went out the door for me almost 11 years ago after the birth of my daughter. So it’s only natural that bowel function would go next, right?
Turns out – it can be a result of my hernia. I’m the weirdo who pushes her (Henrietta the Hernia – I absolutely named it) back in when she’s acting up and goes on about my business. I’ve had the surgery scheduled, but canceled and moved to the Fall, so I’m getting it repaired – it’s just taking me a hot minute to get it all together and finalize the plans.
Back to the rec center bathroom stall…Well, by the Grace of God, I had packed my workout clothes along with an extra pair of underwear. I don’t know about you, but I can’t wear work/suit underwear when I workout. I need granny-panty style All. The. Way.
I carefully removed my crap stained (so embarrassing) underwear from my doubled over convulsing self and ever so cautiously put them in the sanitary napkin bin bag. (I then threw away that bag in the trash, in case you’re wondering) I got myself all cleaned up like I would have my two-year-old who’d just had a complete blow out. Guess what Baby J? Mommy has blow outs too!
I put my workout clothes on, gathered my belongings, opened the stall door and faced the world again a non-shat upon woman, ready to conquer the planned workout for the day. I washed my hands 17 times AND used hand sanitizer and stood staring at myself in the mirror for a good 2 minutes.
Here’s part of my inner monologue: that just happened. My God, you’re 36 yeas old and you crapped your pants. You crapped your pants? Yep. You crapped your pants. What’s next? (I’m not going there….but I could)
I was a hot mess – not just the proverbial “oh I’m such a hot mess” comment all of us Moms will say from time to time to make ourselves or others see us in a more “normal” light so we can all feel better about ourselves. No. I was a true hot mess; I was sweating profusely – in places no one should ever sweat – and I was breathing heavy. At this point – I hadn’t even worked out yet – I felt like my entire body and the air I breathed was contaminated with crap, as if I were Pig-Pen from Charlie Brown and the events of the past 30 minutes would follow me like a cloud and everyone would know. They’d know.
I mustered up the strength to leave the bathroom and head into the gym. Thankfully there were five people there at that time and they were all so old I was confident their sense of smell went years ago. I was in the clear. I worked out – uneventfully – and went home to finish up some work and get my kids to their activities.
Later that evening, when I arrived back at home with my daughter from her singing class. I realized I still need to run to the grocery store for a few quick items. I grab Baby J and M and we head out to our local Publix.
We shopped, both the kiddos get balloons, we got our stuff, checked out and come home. While shopping I noticed Baby J had carefully and quite artistically places chunks of food in his hair and some of it has even planted itself in his ear. Bath time was coming.
We get home and M helps me run a bath and get Baby J all squared away. As we were lotioning him up and chatting we both noticed what looked like, from afar, a piece of food or dirt. Then we thought, wait, maybe it’s a mole. I scrubbed at it for a second before I start scratching at it to see what it was, and then M shouted, “it has legs!” I frantically grabbed my iPhone flashlight and investigated. And we confirmed that a mother-freaking tick is on my Baby’s back. M got my tweezers, I texted the husband who’s at the ballpark with L at his baseball game, and we worked on how to get this thing out. Thankfully I’ve had experience pulling these suckers out because my husband got one when we lived in GA and yours truly did the honors. So, I felt prepared.
Happy to report we safely removed the tick from Baby J’s back and all is well. But dammit if this day couldn’t have gotten worse! I was so exasperated after it all that I broke my no drinking during the work week rule (which I honestly break every other day) and had a couple of glasses of wine just to calm down and take some deep breaths.
Thinking back on the day – I’m a very go with the flow kind of person (clearly, literally!), – I realized today got me. And I’m beyond grateful for my tribe of women who when I texted them to tell them both of these things, were right there, laughing and pitying me at the same time.
I’m not trying to be a voice for women, one shat story at a time, because there are more pressing topics I want to dive into that impact so many women on a daily basis. But if there’s anything we can all relate to, whether we want to admit it or not, it’s that we all have ‘crap’ days where nothing goes right; where everything falls apart. And that is 100% okay. Because shit happens that we can’t control sometimes. And I’m a huge believer in controlling what we can and leaving the rest to figure itself out.
Despite all of the craziness of the day – it was still a very good day. Until I got a call that a deal we were working on fell through. And to that I just threw my hands up and said…
– Confessions of a Corporate Mom
I seriously couldn’t do life without my Mother, the 6 women in my little tribe in TN and the 4 who’ve known me all my life in my hometown. Without these women I wouldn’t be who I am today. I also have to give my husband major props for capitalizing on my moment in true form and making me never forget that this moment happened. And now it’s out in the open. Great. Love you babe.
Please email me at: firstname.lastname@example.org with your tribe or crappy pants story – I’d love to hear both!
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