To Poop, or Not to Poop. And Where?

I recently traveled cross-country to visit my boyfriend in Seattle for five days. I could hardly contain my excitement for being in his arms, and roaming about the city hand in hand. Especially since it was my first time in Seattle, and my first overnight stay with my man.

I spent way too many hours packing, of course, and I packed so much that my carry on was sporting its very own muffin top. I was determined to look perfect every single day. Everything was packed, I had my boarding pass printed out, all that was left was hopping on the plane. I was happy, excited and ready to go. Except for one little thing that I was stressing out about. I couldn’t help thinking about the ever perplexing poop problem. You know, um, where to go poo-poo while with my boyfriend. Ladies aren’t suppose to smell bad, have hair in weird places, and by no means are suppose to go number two around their boyfriends. I was stressing out about the pooping pickle I was in, or could possibly be in.

I texted my best friend and was like, “What should I do when I have to poop?” She offered up some sound advice, “Go poop, Sarah!” Ugh! Seriously? I can’t just go poop. And I have to time myself when I go to pee, because if it’s longer than an acceptable amount of time he will know what I was doing.

Fast forward many hours and a non-stop flight later, I was in Seattle and my baby’s arms. Everything was perfect. There were no poop pains for the first couple of days, but then day three came and I knew I was going to have to go. I thought it out carefully, and decided that I would go take a shower and while the water was running, I would go number two. He would never know! Great plan, right?

It was, but apparently I had psyched my inner intestinal system up so far that I was physically unable to go, even though the need was there. At this rate I would have to go a number six. So until I could settle my system down, I would be miserable.

I tried to go at a restaurant, a coffee shop, and at his apartment. Nothing!

As our time together passed by we became more and more comfortable with each other. To the point we even started talking about, you guessed it, poop. I guess he really had to go too. We laughed and made fun of ourselves, and the rest of the trip was a blast and poop panic free. Once my system allowed me to go, when I came out of the bathroom, he was like, “Better?” I replied with, “Yes, I think I just gave birth.”

I think now that we have survived the “poop predicament” we can breeze through anything!