The following is a piece by guest blogger, Brittany Ferguson. Interested in guest blogging? Visit us here.
Today, ladies and gentlemen, at the age of 35 years old (I think, honestly, I may be 34, but who really knows anymore), I attended my first ever installment of “stool school”. Let me back it up to the beginning…
WTF Kid starts whining about tummy troubles, probably about 2 or so weeks ago, but he always gets too distracted to follow through with his moaning and groaning and it eventually dissipates.
He comes home from school today, buckling over in pain off of the bus. I know this is real because he is typically too cool for me, but today I was permitted to hug him and hold his hand home.
He tells me he needs to go to the hospital, that his lower abdomen is hurting (actually points to it – also rare for him to care long enough to show me where) and that it feels like “there’s broken bones in there”.
So, I did the real test, the test of all tests… “are you too sick to sleepover at Grandma’s house?”. Typically, this is a hell to the naw, I will chew off my stomach before I miss out on a dream night at Candy Cane Lane. He simply responds with a “yes” and “take me right now”.
So, now I am basically convinced he is dying and we fly in the car to urgent care. The whole while he is wailing about his debilitating ailments and impending stomach explosion.
Finally, we arrive at the magical urgent care. I could hear celebratory fireworks in my head. Walk in, and I shit you not, all of a sudden, the pain is gone and he is trapezing off of the circus train. At this point, I am just pissed and telling him he is full of shiz and proving a point that we must wait the treacherous 30 mins to see the doctor.
So, this here, this point of waiting for the doctor in the patient room, is hell on Earth for us both. I mean, I know he cannot just sit, but damnit dude, 30 minutes ago, you were knocking on death’s door. Chill tf out. He goes into full blown caged hyena status – pacing the room, jumping on and off the table, swirling the twirl chair all tf over the place, climbing the window. Of course, when I suggest he knock it off, the attention turns towards me – first crawling all over me, pulling at my pants, licking me, touching me, dragon breathing in my face; hell, at one point, he was straight up picking my nose.
Finally, we see the doctor whom suggests an x-ray and a piss test. He basically sings at the announcement of an x-ray and dances down the hall exclaiming to anyone that would listen that he is going to get pictures of his bones. Just your normal circus in the hospital. Naturally, he did not wear underwear today, so shit got a little weird on the table. At the end he is boasting about how much he liked the “naked party”. And, I just can’t.
So the doctor eventually comes back to relay the message that my son is quite literally “full of shit”. He has moderate stool retention and will be requiring a dose of sit tf down and take a shit. Along, of course, with a daily MiraLAX regimen and “bowel retraining”. Yep, you guessed it, now among all of the other stupid shit I have to force him to do during the day, I have to get him to sit down for 10 minutes twice daily and try to poo. A timer and all folks. I then get formally schooled on the signals the body sends about when a human has to do the deed and how my son was just so god damn busy doing other crap that he never took the time to shit. He trained his body to hold it in, and apparently it did an amazing job. I learn all about the digestive tract and how there may be an area of “hard poop” which takes longer to loosen up thusly forcing diarrhea out from the sides. We discussed the importance of drinking water (duh!) and eating fruits and veggies, but MOSTLY, take a time out when you need to take a dump man, plain and simple. “Stool school” lasted at least 15 minutes, I was partially blacked out at times so I don’t quite remember it all, but when we left, I asked him what he learned, and he basically said that he was also blacked out and farted a lot.
Things that I did/saw today, that I can never undo/unsee.
Since he had to give a clean urine sample in a cup with 3 different wipes, he looked at me like I had 3 heads and couldn’t understand the simple wipeage process, so I had to wipe him 3 separate times in an area that I have not touched since he was a wee lad in diapers. Akward-bo-dakward.
I inserted not 1, but 2 suppositories into his “cavity”, if you will, in hopes of aiding the MiraLAX efforts. Cause, you know, a kid cannot simply drink a cup of juice when he knows there is an odorless, colorless substance in it that was not originally there. Eleven million questions about why I am torturing him and what did he do to deserve this.
As I inserted said foreign objects into the cavity, I saw a shadow lurking behind me. I turn around and there she is, the she-devil, literally one inch from his ass crack, looking in bedazzled wonderment about the object that I just so hastily inserted into her brothers bumb hole. Insert eleven million more questions here, but know that she was JEALOUS. In fact, she begged me for her own “butt plug”.
Moral of the story folks, take the time to take a shit. And also write ridiculous blogs about shit and find the hilarity in the moments that are just very unfunny at the time 🙂
All in the name of comedic motherhood. Hope you could all enjoy/relate to my very real day momming. <3