Arkie Mama: Yes, it really happens

Even eight years of marriage, Hubs and I still contend that pottying is a private endeavor. That’s not to say I don’t poke my head in to grab my toothbrush, but he yelps when I do that, just as I do when he turns the tables.

Which is why, nearly five years ago, I had a sinking feeling each time I remembered the pushing part of my son’s delivery.

While much remained a blur, I distinctly recalled hearing my doula say to the nurse: “Oh, I’ll get that.”

What, I wondered, was the “that”? Could it be … no, surely not.

Months later, I worked up the courage to ask Hubs.

“So when I was pushing during the E-man’s birth, did I — well, you know?”

“Yeah,” Hubs replied with a smirk. “You did.”

Pause. {blink, blink}

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I wailed.

“Because you were postpartum. And hormonal. And I wanted to live,” Hubs said matter-of-factly.

Perhaps this incident was the reason for my abnormal interest in Hubs’ first colonoscopy.

I read him the infamous Dave Barry colonoscopy column. I watched him chug his first round of the prep and then began asking every few minutes — rather gleefully, I admit — if he was feeling the effects yet.

“No,” he said smugly. Again and again.

And then he disappeared into the bathroom for hours.

“Why is Daddy still in the bathroom?” little E-man asked.

“Well, he has to go to the doctor tomorrow,” I said evasively.

“Because he can’t stop pooping?” the E-man inquired.

I found this so hilarious that I insisted on telling Hubs about his son’s conclusion through the bathroom door.

Hubs wasn’t nearly as amused.

The next morning, I sat in a waiting room, flipping through magazines while Hubs underwent his procedure.

Just as I finished my third People, a nurse summoned me to the recovery area. I found Hubs curled up peacefully on a gurney.  Only curtains separated him from the neighboring patients.

“He needs to pass gas before we can let him go,” the nurse informed me.

I felt an evil grin spread across my face.

“Really?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “When he wakes up, I’ll bring him some Coke.”

Important fact: Hubs’ horror of emitting bodily noises rivals my horror of pooping in delivery rooms.

I leaned over my sedated husband.

“Guess what?” I whispered huskily. “You have to toot before they’ll discharge you.”

I giggled manically. Hubs didn’t stir.

I opened the novel I’d brought along. When the nurse returned with the Coke, we finally roused Hubs.

“You still haven’t tooted!” I cackled.

The nurse looked at me oddly. Perhaps my enthusiasm unnerved her.

When she left, I resumed torturing my spouse.

“Did you hear what she said? You have to toot before we can get out of here. So get busy. I promise, I won’t laugh at you.”

Of course, when he ripped the first one I promptly collapsed into hysterics.

As he continued to make a joyful noise, a patient in the next cubicle asked the nurse what was going on.

“There’s a colonoscopy patient next to you,” she explained.

“Sorry!” Hubs called out groggily.

I snorted and snickered and carried on like a junior high boy until the doctor walked in and shot me a puzzled look.

“Everything looks fine,” he said.

I pulled myself together long enough to listen to the doctor. Then I drove my sleepy husband home.

Hubs doesn’t remember any of my juvenile recovery-room antics.

But now, at last, I consider us even in the Arena of Indignities.

3 thoughts on “Arkie Mama: Yes, it really happens

  1. I love this. My husband and I are also not much into sharing bathroom-related things, but pregnancy sent my pride out the window. I just got tired of taking my gassy self out to the back porch all the time. Maybe someday the tables will turn at my house, too.


  2. I wish it were like that at our house. We are not modest about the bathroom. Of course for while in our early years we only had one bathroom so sometimes it could not be avoided. I told him just the other day how when we were dating we didn’t want the other one to know that we tooted. Funny!


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