Once, a friend shared a cringe-worthy experience with me. She was in a grocery store, perusing greeting cards when she felt an unmistakable urge. Instead of making a beeline for the restroom, she stood there chuckling at the cards, convinced the sensation would subside.
Well, it kind of did pass—if you consider a walnut-sized surprise rolling down your pant leg and landing on the floor as “passing.”
With laughter, she recounted how she thought it was just gas, only to realize that farts don’t feel like hot, mushy chunks sliding down your leg. It wasn’t just gas, and that day was particularly unfortunate since she had opted not to wear any underwear. Those undies could have contained the mess and spared the poor janitor from finding her little “gift” nestled in the cracks of the tiled floor.
Listening to her story was hilarious because I wasn’t the one in that predicament. At the time, I judged her harshly. Who lets themselves get into such a mess in public, shoving the nugget under a card display, buying a card, and leaving as if nothing happened? Sure, if you’re ill or have a medical condition, accidents can occur, but if you can’t make it to the restroom because you’re engrossed in a Hallmark moment, perhaps it’s time to reassess your priorities.
Fast forward to a fine summer morning when I found myself in a similar position. I was at a laundromat, wearing my favorite coral dress and sandals, when I felt a sudden, alarming urge. Panic set in as I realized, “Oh no, this is not good!”
Sweat dripped down my face, my knees felt weak, and I clutched my daughter’s shoulders for support. The spin cycle was exacerbating my nausea, and I was hit with that dreadful feeling of mistaking a real urge for mere gas. Karma was giving me a taste of my own medicine, and there I was, about to have an accident in the laundromat.
I wore a dress with a thong, which did nothing to cushion the impending disaster. As I stood there, frozen, I could feel the warmth creeping down my legs. The laundromat was crowded, and I could feel the stares.
Who would ever think that I would be the one to embarrass myself in public? The woman in the coral dress and fancy sandals. I crossed my legs tightly, but I knew I had to act quickly. My daughter and I needed to find a restroom, and I had no choice but to spill the beans to her.
“Sweetie, mommy had a little accident. We need to hurry across the street to the grocery store, okay?”
Her eyes widened in disbelief and confusion. “What smells like dog poop and puke?” she asked, clearly ready to escape the laundromat, which had started to resemble an outhouse.
The moment we stepped outside into the stifling heat, I ran faster than I ever had, praying that the mess wouldn’t spill over. Thankfully, the grocery store’s restroom was empty. I rushed in, disposed of my ruined underwear, and cleaned up as best as I could while my daughter stood on the other side of the door, clearly traumatized by the entire ordeal.
I reassured her that accidents happen to adults too and made her promise never to mention this to anyone. “I promise, mommy! I never want anyone to know that you pooped your dress. Who does that?”
Oh dear daughter, just wait until your time comes. I hope you have enough protection when it’s your turn.
For more parenting insights and tips, you can check out this excellent resource on pregnancy or dive into our discussions on home insemination to stay informed while navigating the ups and downs of parenthood.