Yuletide Log.

And not the kind that you'd want to put into the fire either, believe me.This preggo constipation is a sick readiness program that God has concocted to train us pregnant woman to push no matter what. PUSH even when it seems like the object you are pushing has clearly settled in with the remote and doesn't plan on going anywhere.

If that's the case, if this really is a training program - I'm training HARD.
Pun is horribly intended.

Yes I'm talking about my poo. AGAIN. For regular readers, I'm sure this is no surprise, (<--- do not click on that link unless you love me very much and promise to love me even after you read it!) to others who happen to stumble onto this by accident, my apologies but you know you're going to keep reading. Black, white, yellow, old, young, short, tall, curved or straight, the whole world can relate to poo. Especially the kind of poo that has you sitting on the pot for two hours trying to pass what feels like a dry, misshaped foot.

I wonder, how the hell am I going to get this out? Clearly pushing, hysterically crying and praying isn't working. There has to be another way. Hmm, maybe if I put my leg this way and hold onto the sink like this and sing Daydream Believer by The Monkees. Ridiculous, but I try it. I try it because I'm desperate. I try it because I'm starting to get a toilet ring around the ass.

Things start to get a little frantic at about hour two. Horror stories about that chick that got stuck in the toilet for two years start to creep into my head. I can almost feel my skin embracing my dire situation and start growing around the toilet. No!!

I really don't now how I get through these ordeals. I think I pass out from exhaustion and somehow my personal Christmas presents manage to make it down the chimney because I'm still here, spinchter still intact - but just barely. Pass me the Prep-H.

I truly do apologize that I choose my blog as my main venue to rant about the yuletide logs coming out of the bunghole but it's not like I can do it anywhere else you understand? When someone asks me, oh hey girl, how's that pregnancy going? Sure I can talk about my fatigue and the nausea (that seems to be passing thank goodness) but even my socially inept self knows that when someone asks me how my pregnancy is going, they do not want to know about my rock hard droppings.

I'm sure you didn't want to either and yet here you are with horrible visuals in your head - you really are a dear dear friend. I'll release you from the clutches of disgusting thoughts and experiences now.

Go.

Take that hot shower and keep at it until all of what has been discussed here is gone.

I love you.