Please Follow Directions

I'd like to apologize in advance for this post, but sometimes poop stories are just good for the soul. Poop is the great equalizer, after all. Everybody does it?

Sixteen years ago when my first child was about one I went through a pretty serious health food kick. I really wanted to do a colon cleanse so I bought some pills by the same name. The directions said take 2-4 pills. I felt that might not be enough cleaning and so I took 6 right before I went to bed.

The next morning after breakfast my mom and I talked and decided to have an outing. Mom was treating me to lunch at a nice restaurant, too. Midway through our meal the cleanse kicked in.

I'm funny about public restrooms anyway, but I felt that no one should be subjected to what was getting ready to take place. READ: things were getting ready to get noisy if the sounds in my stomach were any indication.

I went back to our table and said, "We have to leave now. Grab the diaper bag, I'll get the baby, meet me in the car."

Mom just sat there looking at me like I was crazy. "What are you talking about?" she asked.

"Listen, I took a few more of these colon cleanse pills than the directions said. I think something bad is happening inside of me."

"Oh, good Lord, Kara. Just go to the bathroom here."

"Mom, I cannot do what needs to be done here. The bathrooms are so nice, and no unsuspecting person should walk into this situation."  I had begun dancing and sweating and I think she was starting to realize the exact nature of the circumstances in my bowels.

"Fine," she said while rolling her eyes.  "but we've got a 20 minute drive home and you'll never make it."

I whimpered a little at that point and hot footed it out to the parking lot.

After what felt like about ten hours mom made it out to the car and we were off. We had just pulled out of our parking space when I realized mom had been right - I wasn't going to make it home. I wasn't going to make it out of the car at the rate things were moving.

"Mom, I'm not going to make it!" I shouted.

"Oh for God's sake." my mom muttered.

"Seriously, what am I going to do?"  I was panting, still sweating, and gripping the door handle as if it that could help me.

"Get a diaper out. Just go in that."

I looked at my mom to make sure she wasn't kidding. She was serious. She caught my "you cannot be for real" look.  "Look, it's just poop. Just go, you'll feel better when it's over."

I realized this was the nurse in her talking, this wasn't my mom. I grabbed a diaper. Don't judge, I was  desperate and in a moving car.

I looked at the diaper. It was made for a one year old baby who weighed about 22 pounds.

"This is not going to be big enough mom."  Now I was crying and sweating. We were coming upon an intersection and I could see the sign of a gas station across six lanes of traffic. It was like an oasis beckoning to me.

"We'll just clean it up afterwards,"  now she was just toying with me.

"Listen, I'm going to make it to that gas station," I said. "I'm going to get out now and run over there and you make a u turn and meet me there."

"You'll never make it. Traffic is terrible. There's not even a walk way."

There was no more time for discussion. The moment of truth had come. I jumped out of the car when we came to the red light in the turn lane. I literally ran across 6 lanes of traffic and into the gas station. I got to the bathroom and it was locked!! I needed a key from the attendant. I politely asked for the key (still sweating, panting, and now groaning a little).

When I emerged a long number of minutes later the 5 or so people in the gas station just looked at me. I felt that they had heard everything that took place in that bathroom. Thank God it was a single and I could lock the door, but who knows how sound proof it was. I could see my mom in the car waiting for me and almost cried.  We had made it!

I buckled in and mom backed out. We were getting onto the highway heading home after an exciting day out.

"Well, that was ridiculous,"  mom said with no sympathy. She looked over and saw that I was still sweating.  "For Pete's sake, who does that? This is something your father would do. You have to follow the directions on these things. Prune juice would have worked just as well, anyway."

I closed my eyes and half listened unable to argue. She was right. I should have followed directions.

I started moaning again.

"What now?" she asked.

"The second wave," I replied, the sweat coming back.

"Oh, for Pete's sake. Get a diaper out."

"Mom, we've been through this before."

That is the story of how I learned to follow directions.