Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Poop, Farts and Kool-Aid

Well, it's official. I'm now a working mom. And trust me, this transition has not been without its hiccups. I'm now expected to shower before 7 a.m. every day. This is different since I would usually be barely awake at 7 a.m. in my previous life. Showers occurred in the late mornings when I had plans with other adults who I didn't want to believe that it really is true, French people don't have good hygiene (in fact, we really do. I swear). On days where it was just Little Man and I, I admit that a little deodorant and a toothbrush might be the only two things that I encountered. Sometimes a little deodorant if I could smell myself.

But so far, I've managed to rise two days in a row, get myself not only dressed, but made up and changed the Little Man into a cute outfit, drive 35 minutes, drop him off to daycare (or as he calls it "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!" with an angry scowl and large tears streaming down his face) and get myself to work not only ontime, but early thank you very much.

But there are other things that I'm still adjusting too. The first one is pooping. You know this wouldn't be a complete Catwoman post if it didn't involve pooping. I have now been here three days. And I have yet to poop once. My body has long had the inability to poop in public, except for extreme lactose intolerance cases. When I became a stay-at-home mom, my body rejoiced and celebrating by pooping numerous times a day, giddy with all its pooping freedom.

But once again, my body has shut down and I no longer poop unless I'm in the sanctity of my own bathroom, with my Cottonelle toilet paper, and Sweetie Pie is out of ear shot. I have a very prudish colon, which is ironic, considering this next paragraph.

I'm a farter. Always have been, always will be. There are many reasons for my farts, none of which I'll go into except to blame the lactose intolerance and my love of cheese for a large portion of my gaseous stenches. For the past two years, I was used to being at home with dogs who farted way more than me, and so I partook in this release of excess air. Once the Little Man came along, he couldn't have cared less either and I didn't change my ways.

But now, I'm in a cubicle. With two immediate neighbors and three others within the vicinity of my potentially Hiroshima-like fumes. And so I'm conscious of my farts. Because I don't want to be known as the "new girl who fucking farts all the time" around the water cooler.

My cubicle has fabric walls. I'm afraid that they'll hold on to my farts and eventually my whole cubicle will stink of old farts. If my colon is so anal about pooping, why is it that farts are considered acceptable???

The good news is that I'm back to my old easily-brainwashed self. Cults beware! I can easily be convinced that being one of 50 brides to some fat hairy gross man is good because it's what the aliens want. I've only officially been in my new job one day, and yet yesterday I came home and told company news to Sweetie Pie that started with "We did..." "It's exciting because we're the first..."

Of course, I was forced to drink the Kool-Aid out of a fire hose all day yesterday, so what do you expect? At least it was cherry-flavored, my favorite.

Love,

Catwoman.

1 comment:

random_mommy said...

I too remember when my bowels were on a schedule!! They had their own little routine... but staying at home has totally given them their freedom.

Glad the job is going well!!! You'll be great, farts and all!