The Evolution of Farting...

   I think I fall under the category of "typical woman" when it comes to farting. I really don't like it and I avoid doing it at all costs.

And then I got married......:)

You know how lots of random people give you marriage advice when you're engaged?
"Don't go to bed angry."
"Be friends first."
Someone forgot this one most vital piece of advice.
"Men fart, A LOT"

  Early into our marriage, my husband told me story after story of all the times he had to hold in farts while we were dating. In fact, he even had a designated "fart spot" outside my door where he would let loose after our dates and relieve some awful gas. He even told about one time he thought he could let it out before I got to his car and then panicked when I came out earlier than he expected. He had a nice little bomb waiting for me, but lucky for me, it dissipated before I got there.
  Poor man. I had no clue. The things we do for love, eh?
  So that's how it started. I grew up hating farting and then I married someone who had to fart...occasionally. "Its ok," I thought, "he's really good about hiding them. So I think I'll be ok."
Now, if I sound like a fart snob, its because I AM! And of the worst variety too. I will guilt trip you to my heart's content if you fart bomb during my movie....or my car ride...or my shopping trip.
This is how I feel when my husband farts:

ALL men have a secret agenda to get their wives to accept and embrace their farting habits. So after a year or so, my husband and I's conversations started evolving when it came to farting. Let me show you.

STEP ONE:
He asks you to fart for him because he thinks its cute, like so:

 I refused. There was no way I was going to fart in front of him.
And then this happened.
About two weeks after being married, we rode tripped to Pennsylvania to see my parents. My dad, who is diabetic, always keeps yummy sugar-free treats stashed in the cupboard above the microwave. One night, I decided to raid it and found a small bag of sugar-free Reese's cups. "Score!" I thought to myself. (I know, SHAME, right? Stealing from a sick man....)
I ate the WHOLE BAG.
Yup.
Blame it on the birth control but I was craving chocolate something fierce and ate every single Reese's cup. "Not a problem," I thought to myself, "I'll just buy him some more tomorrow." And then it happened. We were getting ready for bed and my stomach starting punching me in the face. I felt like someone was stabbing me with lasers, and pitchforks, and ninja knives all at the same time.
   I asked my husband if he would come upstairs and lie down with me because I didn't feel good. After lying down for a few minutes, I was in SEVERE agony. You would have thought I was in labor or something. It was that bad. I whined and cried to my husband.
"What's wrong? What happened?" He kept asking. But I didn't want to tell him that I stole my Dad's favorite candy. Finally, I broke down and admitted the felony and my husband just started laughing. And laughing some more.
"Babe," he said, "don't you know that artificial sugar gives you really, REALLY bad gas?? You've probably got enough trapped gas in your gut right now to cause some serious damage. You need to just let it out."
"No way!" I said, " I am NOT farting in front of you."
But, as the pain wore on, I finally decided I would do anything for relief and I tried letting a fart out.
Nothing happened.
I tried again. Still nothing.
"Please don't let me poop my pants, please don't let me poop my pants. We've only been married two weeks. I think he could still get in annulled. This CAN'T happen."
"Let me help you, " he said. Because men are experts on all things farting. They really are. I think they get a merit badge for it in Scouts.

"Okay," I said.
He started pressing hard on my abdomen and out popped a fart like someone uncorked a bottle.
I groaned in relief.
"Feel better?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said, "but there's still more in there."
Needless to say, we spent the next half an hour pushing and farting, and laughing hysterically because we could hear my parents outside the room trying to decide if they should come in a help or not.
"Newlyweds....!" my Dad said. And I heard him laugh and walk away.
So that happened. But I STILL wouldn't fart in front of Jess if I could avoid it.

STEP TWO:
They congratulate you on your farts.
"Good one, honey!"
"Nice out!"
"You feel better now, don't you"
   You almost feel some sort of camaraderie. Like you're part of a special club now. The man club. And occasionally you have some bad ones, but your husband laughs it off and gets over it.

And then you get pregnant..............



STEP THREE:
They experience the game changer: Prego Farts
"Story, please?" You say? I thought you'd never ask. :)

  A few days ago, I was enjoying a little morning nap. I was alone in our room, and felt a little extra pressure in my gut.
"No biggie, " I thought. "Jess is out in the kitchen. I can let one rip and he'll never know!"
So I did.
But something wasn't right....
    You know how most farts you can just wave away? Well this one wasn't leaving. It was taking up residence in our sheets. I mean like BUILDING A SUMMER HOME in our blankets.
   "Oh no! What if Jess comes in? I'll just cover it with some blankets just in case."
 In the process of doing so, however, I created some sort of FART TACO. One layer of blanket folded over a nasty, nasty fart. It didn't get rid of it. It just stored it for later.... I forgot about it and continued enjoying my little nap. Then I heard our door open. My husband peeked his head in and smiled at me. Then, without warning, he made a giant leap towards the bed. Destination? My fart taco!! It was like everything was in slow motion.

"NOOOOOOOOO!" I thought in my mind as he flew through the air. It wouldn't have been so bad it he had just landed and then rolled over. But instead, he did what we all do in our beds in the morning.
He nuzzled.
Shoved his face in my fart taco and nuzzled it like a new born baby kitten and releasing the poison gas back into the air.
I closed my eyes, cringing, and waited for his response....
He slowly raised his head. An expression of fear, mixed with shock covered his face.
"Honey??" he said, quietly...."I think Aiden pooped in our bed."

And there it was. My escape plan.
Just at that exact moment, my sweet toddler toddled happily into our room and stood at the bottom of our bed, smiling. "Scha ba ja gge ga scho ma ma, BALL?" He said. It was as if on cue. Like he knew I needed him. Like his chances for ever getting another sibling rested on whether or not he would take the fall for this. He looked up at me, with his big, brown eyes as if to say, "You're not pinning this on me, Momma. You dealt it, YOU deal with it."
   But why SHOULDN'T I blame it on him? It would be so easy. And he owes me one after painting his carpet with poop he found in a left-over diaper a few days earlier.
"What to do, what to do??" ...I thought for a few moments.
"Honey," I finally managed to squeak out, "that was mine, actually. I mean...um...I don't know WHAT I ate last night but, phew! The baby has gas, right? Right...?"
I waited for a high five, or a "Nice out, babe"....nothing.
Instead, I got a nice half smile, like a "I'm just gonna not say anything and not hurt your feelings" kind-of-smile all women get from their husbands when they are pregnant.
And then he slowly got off the bed and walked out of the room like someone who had been injured in the war.

So there you have it. The game changer. You better believe I have NOT been asked to fart and definitely have not been congratulated on anything I have produced since then.
The evolution of farting.... For you newlyweds out there, the next time your husband asks you to fart just reply, "Just you wait....you'll be sorry!"

MERRY CHRISTMAS< EVERYONE!
PS> I would love to hear your fart stories! Leave them in the comments section, if you're feeling brave!





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The Magical Pregnancy Unicorn-Debunked!

      For those of you who missed out on the movie, What to Expect When You're Expecting, the "magical pregnancy unicorn" is that pregnant woman that almost seems too good to be true.

                              For example: Here's the scene from the movie that started it all.

    She's perfect! Not only can she wear 4-inch heels while 8 months pregnant but she looks amazing in everything she wears and doesn't show even the slightest pregnancy symptom. Before watching this movie, if someone would have said "magical pregnancy unicorn" to me, I would have pictured something more like this:

A little more accurate, wouldn't you say?

 In fact, here are some more of my favorites:

Doesn't this one just scream "I can smell that man's deodorant sitting behind us"?

Aaah, we'll get to this one in another post....

And this one was me, about a month ago. Lemme 'splain.

    The picture above pretty much sums up my encounter with a real life magical pregnancy unicorn in the flesh. Yup. She was tall, blonde, and looked like she should win an award...for...something. She was wearing a tight, black, sweater dress and 4 inch heels with beautiful jewelry and perfect hair and had a perfect, perky little bump. For those of you unfamiliar with the infamous "sweater dress", I can help you understand the significance of a pregnant woman wearing one of those. Here's the evolution of pregnancy attire for most of us (in biblical terms just for fun):

Sweater dress(0-3 months)

begets

Maxi skirts(3-5 months) 

who begets

Maxi dresses(5-7 months)

who begets

Maxi ANYTHING(8 months)

who begets

Sweat pants( 8 1/2 months..)

who begets

HUSBAND'S sweat pants!( One week before due date, or 9 months before, depending on if you are me or not!)

   "Well," I thought to myself, "she's probably only like 4 or 5 months and was in amazing shape before she got pregnant. That's why I can't see anything but awesome stickin' out of her sweater dress." 

   "So, when are you due?" I asked, expecting a quiet, "Oh, not for a while yet...." But instead she said.

   "5 days!! I can't believe its almost here!"

SAY WHAT??

Uh uh. 

   Most pregnant women look like this in a sweater dress at t-minus 5 days:

                                                      And we definitely feel that way....

   Who WAS this woman? I told her I was pregnant too and immediately blurted out that I was only 5 weeks and looked like I was 5 months, just to avoid that awkwardness.( Hence the fat walrus telling the unicorn she's pregnant in the picture above). As she walked away, floating on sunshine and happiness, I felt myself envying her. It was like meeting Santa Clause. Or the Easter Bunny. Or the Queen of England(MegaMind, anyone, anyone? Best. Movie. Ever.)

    Then it happened. That moment where you want to die, and then die some more. 

    "I can't believe she's due already." Said another woman who had been talking to both of us. 

    "And to think it took them 5 years to get pregnant. I am SOO happy for her!"

    Now granted, I hadn't voiced any of my magical pregnancy unicorn envy but I still felt like trash. Trash, wrapped in vomit, and dipped in flames. 5 YEARS?? I was crying because it took me 5 MONTHS to get pregnant, and at no cost to me. I can't even imagine what this amazing woman went through to get that baby and I'm sure she is hated on by stupid women like me everywhere she goes. 

   So what REALLY makes someone a magical pregnancy unicorn? The hardship, and trial, and tears. That woman was magical because she chose to give everything and anything to have that child.  And sure, most of us look and feel like this through it all:

(I'm pretty sure she had just ripped a nasty fart and accidentally peed herself in this scene)

BUT WE LOVE IT!

    Moral of the story? There is no perfect pregnancy. And no unicorns. But there is an amazing miracle that we get to experience as women. And it doesn't manifest itself in sweater dresses and high heels. Mostly, it comes in the acne, back aches, snoring, and barfing with a little bit of precious on the side. And it IS beautiful.

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The Meaning Behind Stretch Marks

    My son and I were playing the other day on my bed. We love tickle fights. And we love the movie, Elf. In the midst of this battle, my son pulled my shirt up and starting hitting my belly. He's in that phase, for those of you with toddlers. I immediately panicked, pulled my shirt back down, and ended our tickle fight. I laid him down for a nap and accordingly, laid myself down for a nap as well!
    I put my hand where he had hit me and felt what I always feel when I rub my lower belly. Stretch marks.  These smooth, jagged, indentations all under my belly button right where my latest baby is starting to grow. "Why?" I thought to myself, "why do I have to deal with these? They are so gross!"
    My stomach, like most mommas I know, was absolutely DEMOLISHED by stretch marks by the time my son came to town. In fact, at about 36 weeks along, I had an absolutely smooth belly with not a stretch mark in sight and I thought to myself, " I must be one of those lucky girls that doesn't get stretch marks. Lucky me!" Needless to say, within a week I found a tiny, little purple lightening bolt creeping up the left side of my belly. "Its just one...not a problem." And then another starting creeping up the right side and the previous one starting growing. Within a week of my son being due my belly was COVERED in stretch marks, and they were purple and hideous. Nothing beautiful about them.
   That would have been the worst part too if it weren't for the "afterbirth" stretch marks which tend to make your belly look like cottage cheese thats been mauled by a bear, like so:

 

I'll leave the rest up to your imagination!

   Its been over a year since I first saw that ominous stretch mark and I can say that they do heal and fade, but they are still there! In fact, even in my skinniest of friends and sisters, they still carry their scars from childbirth.
   So, it got me wondering, whats the point of stretch marks, really? I mean, our bodies literally transform themselves, like super-human teenage mutant ninja turtles, to carry the baby...why not have super skin as well? I'm sure some of you have thought of this before. In fact, I'm pretty sure Disney got it just right when they created this character:

  Check out those birthing hips!? Disney made some friends in the momma community on this movie for sure...I would have thought her super power would have been pushing out babies. Cuz isn't it, really? My point is, however, that she's Elastigirl! And she stretches..everywhere! Would it have been too much to make our skin stretch enough with our babies so that it doesn't tear? And to make vegetables taste like french fries? As Tevye, from Fiddler on the Roof would say,

                                                 "Would it spoil some vast, eternal PLAN?"

 In fact, let's just roll with that one for a minute, shall we?
Ahem.

       "Dear God, you made many, many stretch marks.
I realize, of course, that it's no shame to have stretch marks.
But it's no great honor either!
So, what would have been so terrible if I had none?"
 

If I had no stretch marks,
Yubby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum.
All day long I'd actually like my bum.
If I were a stretch-mark free mum!

I wouldn't have to work hard.
Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.
If I were a silky, smooth skinned,
Idle-diddle-daidle-daidle mum."

 (Emphasis added and lyrics changed)

  Did you dance along? If not, you're missing out. :)

  I think this time around, I'm gonna own that hospital gown and dance down the hospital halls proudly singing this song while I wait for the baby to come. Like this lady:

   But in all seriousness, it got me thinking. "Would it spoil some vast eternal plan NOT to have stretch marks? What was God's purpose in including stretch marks in His plan? I mean, there's lots of things I'd like to talk to Heavenly Father about one day. Here's some on my list:

1. Arm pit hair

2. Eye boogers

3. Miley Cyrus

Ya know, the list could go on...:)

Until then, however, what could possibly be His purpose in letting women experience the scars of childbirth for the rest of their lives?

And then the most beautiful, uplifting thought entered my mind:

          "Doesn't the One who gave His life for all still carry his scars?"

    

It hit me so powerfully and immediately I thought of this scripture in The Book of Mormon, the book of 3rd Nephi, chapter 11, verses 14-15:

     "Arise and come forth unto me, that ye may thrust your hands into my side, and also that ye may feel the prints of the nails in my hands and in my feet, that ye may know that I am the God of Israel, and the God of the whole earth, and have been slain for the sins of the world.

     And it came to pass that the multitude went forth, and thrust their hands into his side, and did feel the prints of the nails in his hands and in his feet; and this they did do, going forth one by one until they had all gone forth, and did see with their eyes and did feel with their hands, and did know of a surety and did bear record, that it was he, of whom it was written by the prophets, that should come."

(For those of you who aren't familiar with The Book of Mormon, its where we get our nickname "mormons" from. This is an excerpt from an account of Jesus Christ visiting the people of the Ancient Americas after His death and resurrection in Jerusalem. Please feel free to ask me more about it! )

   I don't think its any coincidence that that thought entered my mind immediately after pondering that question to myself. That's how God works in my life and I believe He answers each of us in a way we will understand. I have learned such a beautiful lesson from all of this.

   Isn't the purpose of this life to learn to become like Jesus? And there's no better way to do that than by having children. There is no greater sacrifice I can think of other than giving your life. And wouldn't God want us to feel like we are like His Son? Any opportunity to have something in common with The Greatest of All God's Children would seem like a priority to me.

   Are stretch marks still embarrassing? Yes. And I don't think the world will ever let us forget that. I can't tell you how many adds I got during my last pregnancy for some proclaimed "miracle cure" for stretch marks. But I hope that I can remember what the purpose of those scars are. To help me remember to sacrifice for others. 

So, the next time you feel your scars, remember, its a chance to have something in common with the Savior of us All. 

Happy Early Merry Christmas to all you mommas out there!

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