So I pooped my pants a few weeks ago, and I’ve decided I’m not going to feel bad about it.
It was a temperate, sunny, Saturday, and my husband needed to mow the lawn and do yard work. He could do this most efficiently if the kids were gone, so I said I would take them to this lovely little outdoor train ride in a park not far from us. I was feeling a little shaky. It was about 4:30 p.m. and I hadn’t eaten all day, so I grabbed a low-carb protein bar to eat on the drive over (pictured above). It was from Aldi, and I’d had it several times before.
The kids and I headed out and enjoyed riding the train and playing in this little play area for about an hour and a half. (And for the mask police out there: yes, we all wore them the whole time.) I’d had to toot for a little bit, but I waited until we got away from everyone and I was loading the kids into the car. As I was buckling my 3-year-old into her carseat, I decided to let it out. But the normal fart warmth lasted longer than usual. And then I felt that warmth running down my leg. I was wearing gray capri pants. I looked down and was horrified to see brownish water trickling down my calf. I shrieked and slammed the car door. Then I had to go around and buckle my son in in his booster seat. I couldn’t tell the kids. It would be humiliating. I looked back at all the smiley happy families gathered around the train entrance. Could they see the growing spot of shame on my pants?
It felt like the liqueous poo had now soaked through my capris, and I wanted to protect the seat of my car from feces. I opened up the glovebox and found a package with a few dried-up baby wipes inside. I spread them out across the seat. The kids remained fairly oblivious. I tried to be nonchalant and rolled all the windows down.
On the drive back, I called my husband and informed him that he had to drop whatever he was doing and be ready to take the kids out of the car and do whatever else they needed when I got home. When he asked why, I told him as quietly as I could. But my 7-year-old son heard me.
“Mom, did you just say you pooped your pants?!”
Then he laughed maniacally.
Next, the 3-year-old piped up.
“You should be ashamed of yourself!” she scolded. For real. She said that.
(For the record, I have NEVER told her she should be ashamed of herself when she pooped her pants. I’m blaming my in-laws. I did, on this occasion, however, yell back, “I didn’t make fun of you when you pooped in your sleep a couple months ago!”)
Although the drive was only a few miles, it felt like years. I finally pulled in the garage, honked the horn to alert my husband and tore upstairs to the bathroom. I threw my clothes in the bathtub and started running water on them while I sat down on a place where I could fart safely. I showered and put my clothes in the laundry with bleach. Once clean, I cleaned up in the seat of my car. (The dried-out baby wipes had only handled so much.)
As I scrubbed, I reflected. For the love of Immodium, what had happened?! I felt FINE. My stomach didn’t bother me once. No cramping, nothing. The last time I sharted was when I had norovirus in 2012. But on this day, I felt in perfect health and thought I could just sneak out a little poot, then BAM: Hershey squirts.
A little lightbulb went off, and I went to check the ingredients of those protein bars. Sure enough, the second ingredient was malitol. Malitol is a sugar alcohol that also is a main ingredient in sugar-free gummy bears. I had remembered reading Amazon reviews about the havoc those little bears could wreak on the gut and your anal sphincter. I’d eaten these bars before, but never on a totally empty stomach. I guess with no buffer, it just went to work “power washing my intestines.” Beware keto people: malitol is often in desserts marketed as keto-friendly.
I didn’t feel safe to fart for days. It didn’t take me long to laugh about it, though. I told some friends about it, and then they all shared THEIR stories of pooping their pants, so maybe it’s not as rare and embarrassing as I thought.
My favorite was from my friend Karen (who is totally NOT a Karen, proven by the fact she encouraged me to share her story). She has Crohn’s Disease and had to have a scan for it in college for which she’d had to drink a ridiculous amount of barium solution. Afterward, she and her digestive system - devoid of anything but barium - went to McDonald’s and ordered a grease-tastic meal that she specifically remembers super-sizing. When she got back to her college campus, the only parking spot she could find was super far from her dorm. She felt the crapper wheels start turning, and she knew there was no way she’d make it. As she walked across campus waving hello to friends and making small talk, diarrhea that mostly looked like cottage cheese due to the barium was running down her overall-clad legs and into her clogs (peak early 2000s fashion). It pooled and squished inside the clogs, but from the outside, no one knew she’d shat herself.
So friends, maybe we should end the social stigma about shitting our pants. Like, it probably shouldn’t be encouraged for public health reasons, but neither should it be demonized. We’re all just one virus, greasy meal or accidental gummy bear consumption away from trouser chili, so let’s give a little grace.
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