Before I became a parent, friends who were already mothers loved to regale me with tales of childbirth and the chaos that follows. “You’ll never sleep again,” they warned. “Intimacy will feel like a chore,” they lamented. “Your body? Forget about it.” But for all their unsolicited advice and cautionary tales, not a single one of them mentioned the real struggle: the post-C-section poop. Seriously, no one thought to warn me about the sheer terror of trying to relieve myself after eight days of not going, all while my newborn wailed in a bouncy seat next to me. This was critical information that I truly needed!
When my son entered the world via emergency C-section, my focus was on pain relief and mastering the art of breastfeeding—not on my bowels. After receiving a staggering 11 bags of IV fluids, my legs looked like balloons, and I was so exhausted that I dozed off into my dinner on night two in the hospital.
Once we got home, life turned into a whirlwind of sore nipples, bone-deep fatigue, and a persistent inability to string sentences together, all thanks to my colicky baby. Before I knew it, a full eight days had passed, and I was in a state of panic. As a first-time mom, I called my OB’s office, where the nurse reassured me that it’s common for bowel function to take a bit of time to return after a C-section. She suggested stool softeners and relaxation techniques, adding with a conspiratorial tone, “Good luck and Godspeed.” That should have been my warning sign that I was in for a rough ride!
When I finally felt a rumble in my belly, I gathered my newborn, the bouncy seat, my phone, diapers, and what felt like half of my diaper bag, and set up camp in the bathroom. I knew it was going to be a long haul. I placed my son in his bouncy seat, pulled down my pants, and settled onto the toilet with far less grace than I’d imagined.
Then came the stomach cramps. My intestines twisted and churned as they attempted to push out what felt like a boulder. I doubled over, sweating profusely, praying for a swift end to my suffering. As I writhed in agony, I had a moment of clarity—this was a battle of wills between my body and my incision. I was determined to push through the pain, but every effort felt like it might split my incision wide open.
Meanwhile, my son’s wails echoed off the bathroom walls, creating a symphony of chaos. I worried that my neighbors might think I was being murdered, especially since the window was wide open. In a moment of desperation, I wiped the sweat from my brow, waddled to my bedroom with my half-finished business, and grabbed a throw pillow. I returned to my throne, hugged the pillow to my abdomen, and unleashed the fury of a thousand postpartum women into that toilet. As I finally felt the sweet release of my efforts, I collapsed back against the wall, utterly spent.
I had survived the first post-C-section poop! After that ordeal, I crawled over to my son and began to nurse him, only to realize that I had lost an entire afternoon to this monumental task. And that, my friends, is motherhood in a nutshell.
As I sat on the cool bathroom floor, my husband walked in, assessed the scene, and said, “I’ll order takeout for dinner. What do you want?” I looked up, raised my eyebrow, and replied, “I don’t give a shit.”
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In summary, pooping post-C-section can be an excruciating experience, one that no one seems to discuss. Between the chaos of a newborn and the physical challenges of recovery, it’s a rite of passage that many mothers endure in silence.