Poop…On My Pants.

Now notice I didn’t say poop IN my pants.

That would be gross.

But the discovery I made at the gym only hours ago confirmed what I had been suspecting since Ellie was born – I CAN NOT DATE UNTIL ELLIE GOES TO COLLEGE.

And really, that isn’t so bad.  If 30 is the new 20, then in New York City years, I will only be 38 when Ellie goes to college.

So I was at the gym and after my delightful endorphin releasing time on the elyptical and the stair master, I hit the leg press.  While I was doing my reps, I noticed something crusty on my black stretch pants.  The following is the thought process I experienced:

“Huh…what is that on my pants?  Is it dog drool?…No, I haven’t seen my sister in weeks and she is the only person I know that has a dog.”

8…9…10 (that’s me counting my reps)

“Is it baby throw up?  I don’t remember the last time Ellie threw up, and it is on the top of my legs so it would be weird if it is throw up.  And it doesn’t look like throw up.”


1…2…3…


“When was the last time I wore these pants?  Oh yes…it was yesterday.  I wore them running errands and when I stopped by the office…Then I came home and listened to Ellie scream for 3 hours. Then I gave her a bath for 45 minutes because that is the only thing that made her stop screaming and then…OHHHHH YEA….I took her out of the bath and she pooped on my pants.”


8…9…10…

Ah, and then I took them off and threw them beside my hamper.  Fed Ellie, put her down at 8:15pm and climbed into bed and fell asleep.  And this afternoon, after I had nursed Ellie, eaten lunch, paid bills online…I saw small window of opportunity to go to the gym before lactation took control of my life again and I grabbed the first pair of pants with spandex that I saw and ran out the door.” (don’t worry, the nanny was here.)


1…2…3…


“Phew…glad I figured that out.  Now onto the hamstring curls.”


That is honestly the way my thought process went.  Not – HOLY SH*T, I HAVE SH*T ON MY PANTS.  I HAVE TO GO HOME AND CHANGE.

Nope.  I was simply relieved I was able to recall what was on my pants.  And even more relieved that I had survived yesterday’s fussy period.

But then I began to dissect this thought process and that is when I realized I will not be dating until Ellie goes away to college.  Here is why:

1.  Let’s start at the beginning.  I wore spandex workout pants to the office.  I was simply stopping by and returning some borrowed maternity clothes and saying hi to a few dozen people and it never crossed my mind that this was not appropriate office attire.

Actually I thought the opposite.  I thought – “These are black and stretchy which means they meet the two requirements of my clothing these days.”

I sat for a good 45 minutes talking to a well-known TV personality and friend and never thought, “Huh, I am in workout clothes and I am not at the gym.”


2. Breast pumping is not really considered sexy.  Even with my cute handsfree bra that allows me to pump and blog at the same time – it’s still kind of weird to excuse yourself on a date to go pump.

3. I have stretch marks on my butt.

4. My stomach.  My poor, poor stomach.  I showed it to a couple friends at the office yesterday – also very appropriate – and I could tell they were thinking about how to double up on their birth control.

5. Ellie screams from about 6pm – 9pm, or 5pm – 8pm…but somewhere in there, we have a meltdown situation.  A few weeks ago, meltdown in full swing, I had to go out for an important meeting at 5:30pm.  In order to get ready, I stood in my underwear, while holding and nursing Ellie.  At the same time I was applying my make-up.

You can guess how great that make-up looked.

6.  Now that I am not pregnant, men have started hitting on me again.  And I am sorry to say, we picked up right where we left off.  Ya know, the standard weird 50-somethings with their hats on backwards making small talk at the gyrm about losing their hotel room key, and the whistle or honk by the random Verizon worker or the shout across the street of “HEY LADY!!!”

This ability I have to attract, what I like to call “less than stellar members of the opposite sex” made me think perhaps taking an 18 year break from dating might not be a bad thing.  After all…it’s not just the guys that hit on me that make people wonder if I have a blinking neon sign that reads “IF YOU HAVE ISSUES, PLEASE ASK ME OUT TO DINNER”…perhaps some have wondered that with the normal looking ones that I have gone out with too.

I had always joked that by being single and turning 30, I skipped my first divorce.

Perhaps the poop on my pants is god’s way of helping me skip my second divorce too.

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