Stealth Farts

       I've tried really hard not to have this blog be all about poop and farts.


       Somehow, it always comes back to it.

    
       I'm pretty sure I'm actually a 7 year old boy.


       Chad and I got married 2 years ago. It was perfect. We eloped, and it was magical to us. We set up a small list of parameters of things we wouldn't do around each other. I took a page from my Aunt Gail's play book. I remember her telling me a long time ago that she doesn't let her husband (my uncle) fart in front of her. It helps to keep the romance alive. I saw the sense in that. Something about farting makes a man lose his sex appeal. I, in return, agreed to do the same. This was an easy agreement, since I don't fart.

        This isn't a new thing, but it's a much more frequent thing these days. I have gas. A lot of it.  Brussels sprouts, cabbage, and beans got together in there, and decided to set up a lemonade stand. It's terrible, and they say it's part of the joy of pregnancy. Really? Farting is not a joy to me.

         It takes me forever to fall asleep at night. I go to bed with Chad every night, but I read in bed for at least an hour before turning off the light. When I lay down at the end of the day, things readjust. It's possible I have somehow subconsciously trained my body to hold in all the gases of the day until I lay down for bed. When I was younger, I could hold it in. Now, it feels like glass shards are everywhere if I hold it for longer than a minute. I had to develop a "technique" to tackle such a dilemma. What's a perfect housewife to do? Don't bother getting up out of bed, that's for sure. Instead, you try to make sure your husband is asleep. Then, spread your cheeks apart and let loose. It's what I have termed "the stealth fart." By spreading them apart you keep it from making any noises to wake a sleeping bear. Then,  keep arms over covers at the top of the bed and poke a foot out near the end to expel the gases safely incase the husband wakes up or rolls over.

          Why am I telling you this? I'm really not sure. Sometimes, I think that someone has to be the Martha Stewart of farts. When you go to sleep tonight, just think. Somewhere out there, I am pulling my cheeks apart to fart.