Ingredients: 1/4 cup of nasty

I had an experience today that needs to be shared with the female world immediately. Warning: This may be a post for strong-stomached women only. If you are a man who reads this blog, and you continue to read on, you have no excuse for being grossed out or becoming violently ill. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. You are also not allowed to look at me, or any other pregnant woman, in disgust and you certainly are never allowed to bring this up in ANY future conversations we may have. I am woman. Take it or leave it.

As happens quite frequently at this point in my pregnancy, I was peeing. No big deal, right? Right. But, post-pee, I barely had time to pull up my pants when – “FLOOOSH” – a wave of uninvited liquid decided to join the party. What the hell was that? It definitely wasn’t urine. It was more like the Hoover Dam just crumbled and the floodgates opened in my pants. I sat back down and wondered if my water just broke. I’m only 31 weeks pregnant. And how am I supposed to know what “water breaking” is yet? I haven’t even attended my first birth class yet! I quickly surveyed the damage. Sure, I could’ve filled a measuring cup and boiled macaroni with the amount of watery fluid I had just released, but how much is normal? Is this normal at ALL? There was no pain or contracting to follow, so I assumed all was well. And, since then, I’ve felt nothing but the normal baby gymnastic routines going on in my stomach. He’s still swimming strong.

Such a strange sensation though. Nowhere, in ANY of my books or pamphlets, did I read about explosive post-pee vaginal waterfalls. I guess this is one of those disturbing stories that could potentially flaw the perfect complexion of a best-selling book focusing on the wonders of pregnancy and birth.

  • Chapter 1: The Joy of New Life.
  • Chapter 2: The Beauty of Tiny Baby Feet.
  • Chapter 3: The Miracle of Birth.
  • Chapter 4: The Necessary Changing of Your Work Pants Because You Spewed Amniotic Juices All Over Yourself After Going to the Bathroom.

Hmmm…yeah, that doesn’t sound very best-seller-y. But, that doesn’t mean I couldn’t have used the warning. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows so give it to me straight already.

The funny thing is, even I had a hard time talking to anyone about this lovely little experience. Eye-opening as it was, it sort of carries a stigma of nastiness along with it. I did mention it to a couple close friends and they listened (in between their laughter), reassuring me that a little discharge is normal. Great. If this is normal, can we just wrap this up? Nowadays, being “normal” seems to be the most abnormal experience in the whole world. Is farting every time you sneeze normal? Is massaging puffiness from your feet normal? Is sleeping with 25 pillows tucked in places you never knew they could be tucked considered normal? No. Pregnancy is not a “normal” experience. It’s surreal and awkward and uncomfortable, but we do it anyway. We call it normal to make ourselves feel better about leaking noises, milk, and water. That’s all there is to it.

Whether it’s “supposed to” happen is another story. Am I supposed to gain 40 pounds in seven months? Am I supposed to sleep in the middle of the day? Am I supposed to have simultaneous moments of panic and joy? Yes, all of this is “supposed to” happen to ensure the healthy end result of giggling baby boy. Why it needs to be accompanied by embarrassing “where’s-the-mop” moments, I’ll never know. But, the “supposed tos” are happening, so I’ll take the abnormalities in stride and do my best to turn them into over-the-top stories to share with the world (prefaced man waivers included).

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