My partner and I have been inseparable since the start of my adult life. We’ve shared nearly 13 years together and have been married for 8 of those. Throughout our relationship, I’ve never once used the bathroom with him in the room. I go to great lengths to avoid any embarrassing bodily sounds, and grooming my intimate areas while he’s around? No thanks, I’ll wait until he’s out of sight.
I simply can’t bring myself to do it. I want to maintain the spark in our relationship and keep the image of a beautiful, alluring goddess who doesn’t need to pee, poop, or deal with any other unpleasant bodily functions. Although he knows these things are part of life, I prefer to keep some things private. After all, no couple needs to share every intimate detail.
And then came pregnancy.
Let’s face it, the mystery is gone! While I still haven’t actually peed in front of him, “morning” sickness hit me hard at the most inconvenient times—like when I was brushing my teeth before bed. My husband, fully aware that he was the reason I was heaving into the toilet (and once into the shower during an unexpected wave of nausea), was there holding my hair back and rubbing my back as I retched. He even took on the less-than-glamorous job of cleaning the toilet afterward, since the scent of cleaning products is a nightmare for a pregnant woman.
Unfortunately, this was just the beginning of shattering my goddess image. My back developed huge, boil-like pimples—reminiscent of those before-and-after shots you see in ProActiv ads. When my obstetrician suggested a pregnancy-safe remedy, guess who ended up applying it to my oozing back? Yep, you guessed it—my husband. So now, the stunning goddess he once admired has vomited at his feet and has oozing blemishes that he has to handle.
But that’s not even the worst part. The challenges of pregnancy pooping are truly something else. Don’t get me wrong; the relief afterward is heavenly, but during the process, I’m convinced the pain and effort are training me for labor. Just the thought of needing to go after taking Colace sends me gasping in agony. With the only bathroom in our house located right next to our bedroom, my husband has had the unfortunate experience of hearing my battle cries while lying in bed, probably wondering what on Earth is happening in there.
And then there are the OB appointments, which my husband dutifully attends. He’s seen—and heard—things during vaginal ultrasounds that have completely obliterated any remaining mystery between us. I need to accept this reality because, much like the challenges of pregnancy pooping are preparing me for labor, these experiences are gearing me up for the moment when my husband will be present during childbirth, where all bodily functions are likely to break loose.
Despite the disappearance of the goddess image I once projected, every night, after he helps with my back treatment, he places his hand on my growing belly and tells me I’ve never looked more beautiful to him.
Meanwhile, I gaze at him in amazement. I don’t question how he can find me beautiful; instead, I wonder what kind of magic he’s under, and I hope to hell I can get some when I’m in labor. For more insights on this journey, check out this related post on Cervical Insemination. If you’re considering at-home insemination, you can find a reliable kit at CryoBaby. For those looking into pregnancy and fertility treatments, March of Dimes is an excellent resource.
In summary, pregnancy has stripped away the mystique of my marriage, revealing a more realistic and raw side of our relationship. While it’s been a journey filled with challenges and surprises, it’s also deepened our connection in unexpected ways.
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