theprimamomma.com

I can’t even blame Montezuma

God knows I’m no stranger to over-sharing. I’ve told you guys more details than you could ever possibly want to know about the inner workings of my body. Nothing has been off limits: Lady parts, colon, ears, nose, throat and mouth… So it should come as a shock to no one that today’s post will feature more over-sharing.

Specifically, this post features my pants… and me crapping them. Yes. I crapped my pants.

Crapping one’s pants is never a fun experience, but in and of itself, it hardly bears re-telling. If I had merely crapped my pants in the comfort and privacy of my own home, I probably wouldn’t even feel inspired enough to share the story with you guys. Oh, who am I kidding? I would totally still tell you. I mean, I don’t want you to start thinking I make a habit out of shitting myself and not blogging about it. That would be selfish. And wrong. I’m a giver.

Ok. So. In regards to my digestive tract, things tend to be feast or famine. You know what I mean? *raises eyebrows and nods conspiratorially*

Why are you looking at me all confused? That was a perfectly good description of my poop making parts.

Feast or famine. Meaning either there is an abundance of digested stuff coming out, or none. Usually my butt is on lock-down, and I’m in a near constant state of “famine”. But every now and then, I anger the Gods, or accidentally drink water from Mexico, or in a fleeting lapse of common sense, perhaps I lick the bottom of my shoe – I honestly don’t know what brings on the “feast”, but  sweet Jesus, my anus suddenly begins to impersonate a geothermal geyser. That’s right, a shit geyser.

Today was one such day. Again, no big deal, EXCEPT, my house is currently on the market, and every day my phone rings, and it’s that obnoxious bitch from Centralized Showing (technically it’s a different person each time, but I hate them all as one entity) telling me an agent will be showing my house at blau blau blau -usually-right-when-Brecken-should-be-napping time. Great.

So I clean my house spotless, keeping one eye on the clock. Sometimes those bastards like to come early. Just as I’m putting Brecken in the car, I make the age old mistake of trusting a fart. I know, rookie mistake. It’s just that the first little fart squeaked out without a problem, and I got cocky.

I immediately snap to attention. I look frantically at Brecken, playing with the straps to his car seat. I can hear the ticking of a clock in my mind as I judge how much time I have before the realtor shows up. Enough time to wrestle the boy out of the car? No. Making an executive decision, I leave Brecken in the car and run inside to the main floor powder room. Yeah, that’s probably technically illegal, the whole leaving my 2 year old in the car thing, but I at least leave the front door open, and the bathroom door open, so I can see any would-be car jackers/kidnappers. This also means that passersby can see me. I never got around to introducing myself to that new mom down the street, and now that she’s seen me in a state of dishabille, I don’t think I’ll be scheduling any play-dates with her.

As I sit helplessly on my toilet, waving to the odd neighbor, and UPS driver, I am wracked with terror, imagining the realtor coming in as I sit pantless in what is essentially my foyer.

I take a quick peek at Brecken sitting stoically in the car. I wave. He waves back. I run upstairs grab new pants and underwear. (I would like it noted that the crap in question wasn’t some nasty, double whopper with cheese crap, but rather a very tiny, vegan, lady-like crap. Hardly worth mentioning, really…) I run back downstairs, fighting my way into my clean clothes. I wave at Brecken. He waves back. I run downstairs to the basement, throw my barely-dirty-I-mean-HONESTLY-it-was-a-tiny-little-crap pants into the hamper, and run back upstairs. I wave at Brecken. He waves back. On go my shoes, and with a quick insurance flush for good measure, I rejoin my son in the car. I am so composed, no one would ever guess that I had just crapped my pants… except the whole neighborhood pretty much knows, having seen me on the toilet through my front door.

I’ll end this tale here, because even though I came very close to crapping my pants AGAIN no less than 3 times in the hour that followed, I somehow managed to keep my sphincter and my dignity intact. (Seriously. I damn near crapped my pants trying to get my card scanned at the front counter at the Y – a process that never takes more than .75 seconds, but today needed to take several minutes. I also nearly shit myself a few moments later when I couldn’t remember the combo into the women’s locker room. It’s funny how a spastic colon makes you lose IQ points.)

In conclusion: I am a classy lady!

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9 Comments

  1. Holly

    I love this!!! Spontaneous Pants Crapping Happens!!!!!

    [Reply]

    Kristy Reply:

    We should probably make this a new acronym SPCH!! It can be a rally call of sorts. I’m seeing good money in bumper stickers.

    [Reply]

  2. wupppy

    sorry bout your crappy day, that shit sucks!

    [Reply]

    Kristy Reply:

    Oh Wupppy, you cheeky monkey. One plus of crapping your pants in the morning? Your day pretty much HAS to get better – unless of course you continue to crap your pants. Then it’s a wash. OH! Budda-bing! (Get it? A wash? ‘Cause you hafta wash your pants…never mind.)

    [Reply]

  3. Claudia

    Hi! I’m not cyberstalking you, I swear. I just thought of something funny.

    So, as part of the bedtime ritual with my kids, they’re allowed to, after bath, watch a couple of Spongebobs. It’s mostly to give us all a timer, so that when the shows are done, “OK! That’s it! Good night!” and then we’re out.

    Anyway, lately they’ve been fixated on the “Ripped Pants” one. Have you seen it? Totally recommend it. So he rips his pants weightlifting a stick and then it becomes a running joke for him. “Cause I… ripped my pants!” is the catchphrase.

    In another part, he goes up to an ice cream vendor and asks “Can I have a banana split?” And the guy (fish) says, “Umm, no. We don’t have that.” “Well, that’s alright… cause I’ve already got… split pants!” My favorite part is when he follows up the banana split question with “Do you have any ripple?”

    Alright, so now, I can’t stop thinking, “Cause Kristy… crapped her pants!” but said in Spongebob’s voice, with his particular speech pattern.

    Also? I made you a song. Well, not really, but I changed the lyrics to the Spongebob themesong: Ohhhhhh. Who lives in a house for sale down in MD? Kristy Phillips! Adorable, brunette and funny is she! Kristy Phillips! If hysterical laughter is something you wish… Kristy Phillips! Then …listen to poop stories and…umm.. flop like a fish! Ready? Kristy Phillips… Kristy Phillips…. Kristyyy Phillllllipppps!

    Too much?

    [Reply]

    Kristy Reply:

    Holy crap (pun intended) BEST song ever! Remind me to tell you my Spongebob story…

    [Reply]

  4. Andrew

    Oh Kristy… pooping your pants is SO last decade. In fact, ever since 1995 when peeing your pants became cool (movie reference, anyone?), crapping your pants and, on top of that, blogging about it, has actually become quite taboo. I, personally, consider this a new low.

    But hey, just like crapping your pants in the morning, you got nowhere to go but up! 😉

    [Reply]

  5. Maria

    An impressive share, I just given this onto a colleague who was doing a little analysis on this. And he in fact bought me breakfast because I found it for him.. smile. So let me reword that: Thnx for the treat! But yeah Thnkx for spending the time to discuss this, I feel strongly about it and love reading more on this topic. If possible, as you become expertise, would you mind updating your blog with more details? It is highly helpful for me. Big thumb up for this blog post!

    [Reply]

  6. Kristy (Post author)

    @Maria – I don’t usually let spam through, but the beauty of this spam comment was too perfect to pass up. I love thinking about your colleague doing an analysis on crapping one’s pants. I hope you enjoyed your breakfast – I’m guessing you ate spam and eggs?

    [Reply]

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