1700221715_45adaa86bc_zphoto: Bob. B Brown Flick Creative Commons

I released the Kraken in IKEA.

It was during my last week of pregnancy with my second son (in my defense). If you’ve ever carried a human being inside of you, you know the level of mortification, grossness and discomfort that comes along with it. You feel me, right? This is my story:

I have a love/hate thing with IKEA. On one hand, I love the bargains and the cool things I don’t need but OH MY GOD I WANT! I also enjoy the cinnamon rolls and the meatballs. I like wandering the odd isles, sitting in the room displays, imagining it’s my house; my perfect clean, organized house where the kids are hidden, everything is in its place and it smells like cinnamon rolls all day.

I hate the crowds of slow meandering people with their 600 kids. They stop to look at every single thing and sometimes, are so rude as to lie on the bed I was just about to plunk down on and rest my feet.

This particular trip was fraught with peril from the beginning. My (ex)husband (although this story was not the reason for our marriage failure. But I would have understood if it had been) and I had decided to take our older son to get final things for the baby’s room and have lunch. The problem was, I was a week away from delivery and had been dealing with the worst constipation and hemorrhoids of my life. Like this shit was so bad (haha, I jest, there was NO shit), I’d recently had to go see a surgeon about possible ‘roid removal. Oh this was a fun visit!

(Begin wavy past-dream sequence music and visual here)

Visiting the butt doctor, I was the lucky pregnant woman who got to be there on “intern” day.

“Do you mind if the two interns sit in on the exam?” they asked, in all seriousness.

WTF? Was this a cruel joke they played on pregnant women? Or were they trying to make the fact that I was in a Dr.’s office, having my BUTT LOOKED AT a little less mortifying?

I waited for the, “Just kidding! Now isn’t this visit better since you only have one Dr. looking at your backside?” Those words never came. They just stared at me, waiting for my answer.

I should have said no way in hell but instead, out came, “The more the merrier!” That’s when they sent my husband out of the room, because the Dr. said, “No man needs to see his wife in this position.”

I ended up not getting the surgery but the memory will last forever.

(End wavy past-dream sequence music and visual)

I digress. The trip needed to happen, so I put on my big girl panties (seriously, they were BIG), put in a Preparation H plug and slathered the whole area with witch hazel cream. I donned my prettiest and sexiest maternity sweats – the light gray ones – and off we went. I had my doughnut (bless the doughnut) for sitting, so the ride was a joy.

As we were walking in it happened – the gas. Anyone who has used suppositories knows, they often cause gas. Determined to forge ahead, I stayed away from people, letting out little puffs as I went. I tooted my way through the aisles, grabbing ALL THE STUFF.

When nature called, I took my son to the restroom and was appalled, as I squatted in the stall to give my back a rest and exploded from my backside. It was so loud, my son jumped, started giggling and the woman in the stall next to us couldn’t suppress a laugh. I give her credit for trying. I heard the sweetest voice say, “Mommy, that was the loudest pouf I’ve ever heard!” Followed by, “Shhhhh.”

I waited until I thought everyone who’d heard was gone before exiting. We finished our shopping, got a cinnamon roll and left. Once home, I was happy to feel the “urge” to make magic happen, so I waddled to the bathroom. Then I saw it; the stain. There was a HUGE oily, dark mark from my bottom, all the way down the back of the pant legs. On both sides. WTF? I looked closer and realized, with each toot, I had been expelling a bit of the oily Prep H.

Really.

I can’t explain the mortification, disgust and downright defeat I felt. There was no hiding the stain, I’m quite sure everyone in IKEA noticed. I don’t know how in the hell I didn’t feel anything but honestly, I was so effing sick and tired of thinking about my ass, I think it was numb.

This was pregnancy’s final way of ripping me of my dignity and any hope of feeling attractive. And the absolute worst part, was not that I had hundreds of strangers witness my leaky bum, it was that the oil from the suppository stained the pants. They were the only pants that fit and now they were trash. I spent the next week in my husband’s old sweats with no drawstring, which was fine, since my stomach was so huge they stayed up on their own.

I share this with you all in the hopes of solidarity among women. So that if there’s another lady out there, going through her own pregnancy horror, she can read this and not feel so alone. And, as a gentle reminder to not toot in public after suppository insertion.