Finally – a night out. Baby free! After 8 months of sneaking alone time, we were getting a few hours to leave for a nice dinner, just the two of us.
The mood was set. It was a relatively warm February evening and the stars were brightly shining in the sky. It couldn’t be more perfect.
Wait a minute. You haven’t met me. You need to understand one thing about me before I continue. I ruin surprises.
I am notorious for ruining any surprise anyone tries to do for me – even something as simple as Mike surprising me with a candle-lit bubble bath. I ruin it.
Mike – Honey, come upstairs for a minute. I want to show you something.
Me – Show me later. I’m too lazy to walk all the way upstairs. What is it?
Mike – I can’t show you later. You have to come now
Me – Why now? What is it? Why won’t it be there later?
Mike – It won’t be there later.
Me – Well then what is it?
Mike – Come see.
Me – JUST TELL ME WHAT IT IS!! (I’m usually seeing red at this point because he won’t just tell me what the hell he wants to show me.)
Mike – OH MY GOD! I’m trying to surprise you with a damn bath woman. Just get your ass up here already.
Me – Awww, you’re so sweet! I’m sorry I’m a jerk.
Anyway, I had spent 5 hours shopping 3 days before to find the perfect outfit. After 8 months of looking like a slob in grossly over-large baggy clothes covered in spit up, I wanted to look sexy. I wanted to feel like a woman again – not like Jabba the Hut. Shopping was a bad idea. By the 4 and a half hour mark, I was wandering the mall, almost in tears. NOTHING FIT! I had lost most of the 60lbs I had put on during my pregnancy, but thanks to my darling little boy, I now had a tummy pooch and oddly shaped breasts. Lovely. I was ready to give up and consent to spending the rest of my life looking like a “People of Walmart” person. I wandered into a store, looked around at all the pretty clothes and promptly burst into tears. A lovely saleslady immediately came over.
Saleslady – Oh my! Are you okay?
Me – (blubbering mess, fairly incoherent) I (sniff) had a baby (sob) 8 months ago (sniff sniff) and don’t know (booger slides down my nose) how to dress myself! I WANT TO FEEL LIKE A WOMAN AGAIN! (Incoherent wails)
Saleslady – We can help you. What are you? Size 9?
Me – (sniff) Yes.
Saleslady – Go put this on.
And with a quick wave of her wand, a black skirt and blue drapey blouse appear in her hand (in actuality she ran around the store and grabbed things quickly).
This lady was a goddess! I looked like a woman! To her horror, I couldn’t help but hug her and thank her profusely. I finally looked like I had boobs and a vagina again!
Flashforward a couple days to the big night out. I was unbelievably excited. A lovely dinner out and I knew I was going to knock his socks off.
My best friend shows up to look after my son while we’re out. Half an hour later (yes, I was “that mom” who spent that long going over every detail about my son’s habits – even though my BFF sees him every day and knows him almost as well as I do), we head out.
We get to the restaurant; order our drinks (I love wine. I finally get to have wine!)and our meals. Chatting and having a merry old time quietly mocking the other patrons of the restaurant. I love that about him. Instead of thinking I’m far too bitchy and mean, he partakes in the fun pastime of mocking poor innocent people with me.
Sadly, it is time to go home. Mike pays the bill and we slowly put our coats on, exit the restaurant, and calls for a taxi.
I can feel it building.
I have to poop. NOW.
I start bouncing around, clenching my butt-cheeks together as hard as a person physically can. Mike inquires what’s going on, and I, of course, not wanting to ruin the night, tell him that I’m simply cold.
The taxi ride home was only 15 minutes long – if that. But it felt like a life time. I was adamant that I was not about to poop my pants while sitting in a taxi – if only so we didn’t have to pay the clean-up fee.
Oh. My. God. Can this car go any faster?
By the time we pulled into our drive way, I was entering serious danger zones, I think the proper term is “prairie dogging” it.
Mike starts stalling me.
Mike – Honey, it’s a beautiful night. Let’s go for a walk.
Me – NO!
Mike – Please? I want to go for a nice romantic walk in the snow.
Me – Oh my god. What the hell part of no don’t you understand?
Mike – C’mon! It will be nice!
At this point, I swear I grew devil horns as tears started welling in my eyes from the sheer physical exertion of clenching my butt cheeks together. I ran as fast as I could to the front door, with Mike hot on my heels wondering why the hell I didn’t want to go for a walk with him. I threw open the door.
“I AM GOING TO SHIT MY PANTS!” I yell as loudly as I could as I race upstairs to the bathroom.
It never felt so nice to sit on a toilet. Time passes. I do my business and start to feel so bad about how I mean I was when Mike simply wanted to have a romantic walk with me. I think of ways I can make it up to him. I change back into my 3-sizes-too-big jeans and start to make my way back downstairs.
What the… why is my living room filled with balloons and streamers?
Oh lord. My living room is filled with people. I just announced that I was about to crap myself.
Then I hear it. Our song is playing. Nothing fits us more than Little Moments by Brad Paisley, and I can hear it playing as I continue to make my way downstairs wonder what on earth is happening, while my face is turning beet red because of my almost-poop-in-my-pants moment.
Finally I reach the bottom of the stairs and start to ask, “What is…” and then it happens.
My handsome man, Mike, proceeds to go down on one knee and asks me to spend the rest of my life with him as his wife.
Oh! So that’s why there are balloons and streamers and about a million people in my house (okay. There were only 5, but at the time it felt like a million).
Now that’s love. One minute you can tell a man you’re about to shit your pants, and the next he’s asking you to be his wife.
I’m sure he would have retracted his question had he entered the bathroom shortly after I left…