I almost hate to write about this due to the fact that I might be revealing a little too much of myself, but if I can admit that my greatest ideas come to me on the toilet, why can’t I admit to this? I’ll just keep it short as to not over-expose those details we would all rather not hear. So, here it is folks: The gas we pass when we’re passing for two is…umm…wow…I’m actually at a loss for words. I can’t concoct a word rancid enough to describe it. It’s not pretty. Not pretty at all.
Apparently, that lovely progesterone (which I’ve complained about since blog post #1) is at it again. Not only does it shorten my breath and cause me to act like a raging lunatic, but it softens the tissue in my digestive tract too. A lovely thought, I know. Women aren’t supposed to fart, I get that. I understand there are certain “standards” we as a sex should try to live up to. But, I for one have never (EVER!) been very good at living up to standards, so why start with something I’m so disgustingly good at? And if that dumb hormone is going to work its magic on my entire existence during this magical time, why not throw in an increased role for my intestines and colon too!?
Gas is created from the food you consume that is not fully digested, yet somehow still manages to sneak into your intestines. Well, it’s a miracle I don’t break wind 1,440 minutes a day at the speed I’ve been eating lately! It actually amazes me that anything can get fully digested when I’m shoveling it in at a rate Speedracer would have a tough time beating. Tonight, after a marathon of pizza-eating and soda-drinking, I stopped to wonder how these gassy bubbles are impacting my baby. I already know how they’re impacting my husband by his quick sprint out of the room with his sweatshirt sleeve covering his nose, but is it possible that there are negative effects on the tiny creature growing up so close to all the gaseous action?
Like every good mother, I googled. And, luckily, I found that the only impact it may have on baby is that he may be slightly startled by the noise or vibrations around him. Um, you and me both, honey. Most of what I found just defined it as “embarrassing” and “uncomfortable.” I would say, yes, it is both of those things. I would also add to the list: “revolting,” “immeasurable,” “unnecessary,” “inconvenient,” and “stinky.”
I hope I’m not the first pregnant woman to admit to being stinky, because – lie all you want ladies – it’s happened to YOU! Maybe you’re better at hiding it than me. Maybe you time your bathroom visits with your internal clock o’ flatulence. Maybe you excuse yourself from bed whenever you feel a bomb coming on. I do none of the above. I don’t, and I don’t care. Not right now, at least. I’m big, I’m tired, and I’m insufferable. Why not add “irreverently smelly” to the laundry list of reasons my husband wants his old wife back?
Good news is, this too shall pass (no pun intended). Once we exude that big final push at the end of this stinktastic tunnel, we resume life as our dainty, feminine selves, and if our husbands know what’s good for them, they never mention “that time you cleared the room during that dinner party” ever again. Maybe you’re like me and you were never so dainty or feminine to begin with, but hey, your pre- and post-baby self has GOT to have more self-control than your current self, right? For my sake, and for the sake of everyone within nose-shot of me, I certainly hope so.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go refill my Glade Plug-in.