Tonight's tale is brought to you courtesy of my family's car ride home from the store the other night. It's gross, inappropriate, no one ever writes about it because it's a pain in the a$$ humor, so consider this your warning! Your welcome.
As we are starting to driving up the hill, to the mountain on which I live, it hits. That almost uncontrollable, immediate urge, to go to the can. The oopsie, I accidentally on purpose, mixed too many, one at time on my tummy, foods together during dinner. The horror at the perfectly awful timing. The saying a little prayer for my god to please, please, please let me get home and make it to the bathroom before my sphincter muscles give out. The turning the AC off, because the cool air is making it harder to exercise the full squeeze concentration necessary to not have a full out explosion in the car. A full 5-7 minutes from the closest porcelain god. UGH. Squeeze.
So in noticing my turning green, and probably hearing my tum tum gurgling, a squirming then bracing myself of sorts in the car, and my audible oooohhhhh dear, that my family realizes my dilemma. My back is arched, making me look like I am pregnant, arm is braced on the window, other hand on the steering wheel, head braced on the headrest, and the deep breathing begins. There is no way when dinner is trying so desperately to come out, that I can sit up and suck it all in, while squeezing the bottom muscles to keep that all in. Awkward! So I need immediate distraction. I ask my daughter to sing. About anything other than my current emergency situation. So Hubbie the Dearest finds the entire situation so amusing, he is overcome with an uncontrollable fit of giggles. He then proceeds to start making up pooping songs. The 5yo ignores him, while continuing her little ditty about trees. Did I mention I was driving? Yeah...
So then my hubbie begins his non-cooperative making fun of mommy's pooping emergency stance, that in no way helps me stay calm, and breathe. He is determined to torture me in any way possible. If I start laughing, it's all over. He turns the AC back on, and lights on a rendition of 'Here Comes The Funk' that he is quite impressed with. After singing five different versions, here is the one he settled on.
Mommy has to poop, Mommy has to poop, Mommy has to poop,
Mommy has to poop, Mommy has to poop, Mommy has to poop.
Over and over and over. Then the 5yo joins in. Really? You just sang that in your head didn't you? The Poop Song! They are singing it in rounds, like at camp! Welcome to the antics of my hilarious little family. Please let me not laugh, squeeze, squeeze tighter, your almost home. Ahh just a little bit longer, we are at the end of our road. I start breathing like I am in labor. Hee hee hooooooo, hee hee hoooo. Now deep breaths, deep breaths, we are just around the corner...turning into the driveway, almost there...almost there...awww crap, no, nooo, nooooo stop it body! Not allowed to auto relax upon making it to the driveway. Like my body has a 'just made it home' sensor. Must be a subconscious thing! Just a little bit longer, please let me make the bathroom...squeeze, squeeze. Key out, inserted, and the door is unlocked and open. I bust through the front door like a bat out of hell barreling down the hallway to the bathroom, like a woman possessed. I throw my britches to the ground, slide into the bathroom, and plop myself on the toilet, just as the explosion happens! And relax...check the panties...and we're good. No accidents! Whoo hoo! Go Mommy sphincter muscles,go! Good job ladies! Another one bites the dust indeed. Or the watery grave anyway!
Aaand I am happy to report , I got to poop alone. Even if this was the beginning of the Kindergarten Krud.