Your Childbirth Horror Stories

Life is beautiful. The process by which life comes into the world is generally not.

For some women, the process of giving birth is hard work that culminates in a flash of pain, followed by relief — tough, but as far as births go, relatively uneventful. For others, there is tearing and pooping and screaming involved. And for others, the tearing and pooping and screaming takes place in a setting that was not designed to accommodate it. The back of a cab, perhaps. A hiking trail. A conference room.

This week, we’re going to give the floor to those mothers among us who went through hell to bring their little angel into the world. Did it hurt? How badly? What happened? The winner of this week’s contest will be the one who causes the biggest simultaneous vaginal wince in human history. I believe in you, whoever you are.

But first, let’s talk about poop again. A few worthy mentions in last week’s, uh, shitting contest came from Alexander Robles, for his vivid descriptions, and to Pilot to Gunner, for this treasure of a sentence: “I ran outside to the yard and pooped in the snow behind a bush, then I buried it like a cat.” The winner, though, was obvious:

I think I can win this.

I pooped my pants at Disneyland. During the big Christmas show. In front of a crowd (how didn’t get confirmation, but…)

Let me set the scene: It’s Christmas season a couple years back, my person and I are annual passholders and we get an invite to the Super Special Christmas Choir show at Disneyland. We decide to go, but I kind of feel like shit (yep) all day.

We have to wait in two cattle calls, showing special tickets and wristbands, the works. While that’s happening I’m starting to get worried because something is wrong, but I don’t know how very wrong yet. We’re seated in a large crowd in front of a stage area in the front of the park. (If you’re familiar with Disneyland, it’s on the side of the train station that faces Main Street.) There are like 500 people, and at least a hundred performers. We’re seated in the third row from the front and we can’t escape back through the crowd. Plus, there are ushers who are not letting people get up to help control the crowd.

The show starts. There are a lot of candles and some singing. There are a billion people who are all having their super special Christmas magic time. I suddenly am like 100% sure I’m going to barf.

Finally, desperately, I run the only place I can… toward the stage. I try to pull off to one side so I don’t ruin the show, and I manage to make it to the edge of the side of the stairs of the train station, about two feet from the edge of the singing choir (who, very professionally, do not stop). I vomit there.

Immediately there are ushers, but WHAT CAN THEY DO THEY ARE INTERNS IN COLLEGE OR SOMETHING. My person is still sitting, in shock, in the crowd of people who just saw me barf.

I do my best to run-walk toward the bathroom that’s around 150 feet away, but I only make it to the grass island between the Christmas event and the bathrooms and I shit my pants. It just happens and I can’t stop it. It doesn’t even really feel like I shit my pants it happens so fast — more like suddenly there just *is* shit in my pants. At the same time I vomit again. Some very helpless Disney worker says, “Are you okay?!”

NO. I remember saying NO really clearly. Obviously not okay.

By the time I make it to the bathroom it is very clear that not only have my pants been shit in, they have been destroyed. I am now in a public restroom in Disneyland during the busy Christmas season with no fucking pants. And they were my favorite jeans! My husband eventually finds me, buys me a pair of velour pants with Mickeys on the butt, and we leave.

She still wears them as pajamas sometimes! Congrats, Dr Mrs The Monarch. And best of luck to all of you uterine warriors. I shudder to think about what you’re about to unleash.