Shirley

"Go ahead and pick two names, one for your baby, and one for that first postpartum poop."

Six days after having given birth to Hugo, one thing was left unfinished.

The first poop.

Now, throughout the week, I'd had some little poops here and there, but the real problem remained, and was going nowhere, fast. I'd tried stool softeners and suppositories and eating all sorts of high-fiber foods, and fruits and vegetables, and drinking different things. But nothing was working.

Disclaimer 1: This is a story of relieving postpartum constipation.

Disclaimer 2: This story is 99% true, and the 1% that's not is added so the story makes sense.

Saturday, June 27.

I had woken up to feed Hugo, who was in the process of starting to wake up. My mom was still with us, and my sister was still in town. 

The concoction of stool-altering medicines in my body was such:

• 3 Dulcolax stool softeners, daily (the max dosage)
• 1 Miralax stir-in powder, daily (the max dosage)
• 1 Dulcolax suppository, four hours prior to the beginning of the story (max dosage for one day)
• 5 orange-essence prunes (a serving)
• 5 oz of magnesium citrate with one full glass of water (half the dosage.. I was being cautious since I still needed to be available to feed Hugo when he needed)

So, there was a lot of stuff working inside of me.

Fifteen minutes after drinking the magnesium citrate, I started to feel some gurgles. "Yay!" I thought. 

This could be it.

I finished feeding Hugo, and handed him off to my mom to get changed and then asked them (my mom and my sister) to hang out in the back bedroom so I wouldn't hear if Hugo cried (so I could focus on the task at hand).

I went to the other side of the house, to our master bedroom, closed the bedroom door, then went to the master bathroom and closed that door. I also turned on the fan/vent for more noise reduction. (The kid has a surprisingly loud cry for someone who spent 4 hours in the NICU due to worries about his lungs).

And finally. I was pooping. There was a steady stream of not-super-watery-but-also-not-solid waste exiting my body, but I knew better. I knew the "cork" was still there- just being pushed around by the other waste.

(Side note, I can't believe I'm putting this on my blog, but I feel like if more people weren't ashamed of it, or embarrassed by it, I would have been more prepared in all the research I did for what to expect before, during and after giving birth).

So I'm feeling finished with this specific poo event. So I'm wiping, gently, because, you know.. I just gave birth.

Aaaaaand I clog the toilet. Normally this wouldn't have happened, because I would have been sure to do a courtesy flush, but the combination of the relief of having been able to "go," and the steps required to clean up the Downstairs Mix-Up after using the restroom distracted me.

So, I'm freaking out. Like "Oh crap. I have a toilet full of crap and bloody toilet paper and it's clogged." And suddenly, I'm pretty sure the cork is ready to start its journey.

So I run out into the living room, a hot, sweaty, screaming mess, and scream for Hubs to unclog that toilet in the fastest way he's ever done.

But he's using the guest bathroom.

And of course, I suddenly have to go. The cork waits for no man's plans.

I literally barged in on him using the restroom, throw a wad of toilet paper at him, screaming and crying for him to just get the hell out and that I'm sorry and that I love him and that this will never happen again, but that for right now, he needs to get the hell out of my way.

A terrified look upon his face told me he knew better than to ask questions.

I flush his bathroom effects, and sit down.

And I swear that all at once, I thought I was going to explode, implode, die and live all at the same time. I screamed a tiny, pathetic scream of pain, and I'm covered in sweat and tears, and somehow my hair is halfway out of its ponytail. But then, in a moment of calm, I call my mom.

My mom?! 

Yes, my mom. She came in, probably thinking I'd fallen over, or was about to pass out, or popped my stitches or was bleeding to death.

I introduced her to Shirley.

Gosh, I wish I was kidding about calling her in. But I felt she should meet her second grandchild.

So I flushed and continued expelling the contents of my bowels from the week. THE WEEK.

I came out of the bathroom to my mom, my sister, and Hubs sitting on the couch staring at me, confused and worried about what they'd just seen/heard/experienced.

I said, "I'm sorry that happened" then took a shower to clean off/feel human, and took a short nap (because Hugo was hungry again).

It's two weeks later, and I'm still taking the max dosage of stool softener and drinking half bottle of magnesium citrate per day. 

I will not become that sweaty, poopy monster again.


**Please note, that it was discovered one week after The Birth of Shirley, that the reason I was in so much excruciating pain through this entire process, is because in addition to the episiotomy, Hugo also broke my tailbone during his exit. Go figure, right?**

If you look closely you can see the line where my tailbone left a mark over his

right eye, through his hair. While the indentation is gone, a red line shows

up when he cries his big blood-curdling cries.