Who Farted?

I am now that person.  I am that person who has blamed my beautiful, angelic infant daughter for my own smelly expression of cauliflower and broccoli.  You see, I go through vegetable phases.  There’s leafy greens with brown rice (usually in colder weather), salads, and raw veggies with ranch dip – sometimes peppers, sometimes carrots and celery, and most recently broccoli and cauliflower which, wouldn’t you know, are digested differently than the vegetables I had been eating.

I am a generally good smelling person – you can ask Dad-E, it’s true – but when I’m not good smelly my farts are generally of the silent and deadly (really deadly) category and come when I’ve had a dietary shift of some kind (see above).  So, this had been going on for a couple of days when LM, LMJ and I decided to visit our local library.  It’s a small library which is only open for 15-20 hours a week and was saved by neighborhood protest when it was going to be shut down entirely.  It is cozy and staffed with librarians who still want to check out your books rather than direct you to online options, or collect your returned books instead of directing you to the drop box.  There is a tiny children’s section inside this small library that we frequent.  I wish LM was more enthusiastic about the library but I can normally entice her there on an errand for school, the promise of a movie soundtrack, or their twice weekly tea time complete with crackers, oreos and tea served in varieties like pomegranate and blueberry.  It’s lovely.

In this lovely setting, on an errand to pick up bug/caterpillar bugs for LM’s classroom, we are sitting in the children’s section reading some books.  There’s a rumble in my stomach.  Not really my stomach but just below.  There is also another mother with her adorable 2 year old sitting nearby, in this tiny section in this little library.  I decide it is best to vacate the premises.  I change my interactions with LM subtly to indicate we will be finishing our book, getting up and checking out our items (fine by her, she’s ready to get out of here and hit the playground).  I am able to hold my abdomen while we finish the last two pages of a book, place all items to check out in my bag for carrying, and collect LMJ who has been drooling over a number of board books (hoping this is OK and she doesn’t get sick).  The tricky part comes when I go to stand while simultaneously lifting LMJ.  My pelvic floor muscles give out (should have taken those kegel exercises more seriously after all) and out comes a deadly but unassuming bit of gas.  This most likely happened at face level to the adorable couple I’ve mentioned above.  As we are walking out of the children’s section and toward the check-out desk LM loudly declares, “Dee-scusting.  I smell poop.  It must be LMJ’s diaper mom.”  Feeling just a tad guilty, and a tad delighted, I respond, “Must be.  Yucky.”

In my defense, LMJ’s not just beautiful and angelic – she can also be persistently stubborn and insistent on being carried/held by me at all times.  She’s addicted to breastfeeding and has put this mom through the mommy ringer so if one or two farts get blamed on her, so be it.  We’ll consider it even.


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