Before I was expecting, I knew that being pregnant resulted in one thing: a baby. I have since discovered that it also results in all sorts of other neat things like acne, chronic nasal congestion and flatulence. For the random breakouts, I use a salicylic acid. For the nasal congestion, Breathe Right strips. And, for the gas, a sense of humor.
Of all the strange afflictions that pregnancy brings, I have come to the conclusion that flatulence is the most unwelcome bedfellow. Unfortunately, I’m not the only one who thinks this. My actual bedfellow, my husband Tom, heartily agrees. Poor guy.
Back in my pre-pregnancy days, I passed gas at the usual times—after eating Mexican food, eggs, or broccoli or while stuck in small spaces with strangers, such as elevators or airplanes. Now, my intestines don’t discriminate. Even if I’ve been throwing up for two days straight (which, by the way, wasn’t that supposed to stop like two months ago?!) and am sure that nothing could possibly have made it to my bowels, the gas remains. The only thing that changes is when and where I’ll be mortified.
I’ve been told by older folks that unpredictable gas is a natural part of life once you hit your 50s. What they didn’t tell me was that pregnancy would speed things up by about two and a half decades. Already in the last 24 hours, I’ve had an audible flatulence problem in an airport security line, a taxi, at the dinner table surrounded by family, and while walking through a Babies ‘R Us. Being someone who’s squeamish about bodily functions and would rather face a firing squad than use the awful “F” word (the one that rhymes with heart), I can’t imagine anything much worse.
Still, what can you do but apologize quickly and quietly, then once you’re alone writing a blog post, chuckle at the ridiculousness of it all? I haven’t come up with any better game plan yet. So, until I do, while everyone else continues to fret about the price of gas at the pump, I will continue to smile apologetically about mine.
