I don’t know if you have a designated time in your day to take your daily poop. I’m a morning pooper for sure. But I know I’m on the endangered list heading towards extinction, because the morning poop is a sacred one and I am losing control. I remember watching that secret single behavior episode in season four of Sex & The City, and thinking how snoresome Carrie’s “eating jelly and crackers” was compared to some of my secret single behaviors. At a poker table I’d call Carrie on her crackers, and raise her a crispy pig’s foot.
For sure, one of my secret single behaviors was the morning poop. Was, because I’m now married and a mother, and my secrets are now on a different level than they ever were when I was single. Was, because sometimes I don’t even get to rest and poop until it’s not morning. However, I have been fighting and will continue to fight for my right to get my morning poop on.
When I was single, it was easy. If I was living with a boyfriend then I just made sure I was up first to morning poop with sufficient time to air the bathroom out. If I was living alone, then it was all about me and I thrived as a morning pooper. Stay-over boyfriends, sex friends, just friends and booty calls alike were always out of my place by the time I morning pooped. Staying over some guy’s house from the dirty night before meant making my super early coffee-laden walk of shame home, with plenty of time to get in my morning poop.
Fast forward to now, and I find myself missing my morning poop times and slightly mortified by the fact that I’m about to publish this blog.
But it’s not about the poop, that would be too literal and really disgusting to write about as a non-scientific topic. It’s about the luxury and the freedom of not worrying about anyone but yourself while you sit half-naked behind a closed door when you want to, or need to. Very personal and vital time. But some, not all, secret single behaviors can live on but most have an expiration date. Sleeping in until I’m ugly swollen, pooping when I want, and trying on my drawer of bikinis in my candle-lit bedroom on a monthly basis are some which have been buried in my secret single behavior graveyard.
I miss them, but I’m okay with letting go because because nowadays I’m more concerned and content with not letting go of my little Noah’s hands. He’s now just shy of his first birthday, and in addition to this very clingy phase he’s going through he insists that we spend most of our day drunk-walking him around the house.
This last year has flown by and I don’t even know how many mornings I was able to observe my time of morning poop, unfortunately I did not keep track of this. But I know that from time to time I look back with fond memories on those times in which I freely pooped.
RIP Morning Poop.