I've realised the title sounds very ominous. It's not. Bear with, bear with.
So yesterday evening, with a 2 year old in bed and newborn twins on my lap, I started to notice a stabbing pain low in my tummy. Within ten minutes my boyfriend had had to remove said offspring from me while I crawled naked upstairs in agony. And ten minutes after this he was ringing an ambulance because I was mute with pain.
By the time I came downstairs for said ambulance, he had half the contents of our local pub in our kitchen taking orders on how to look after our brood, while I hobbled into the pain van, guiltily knowing I was taking with me my EBF newborns' breakfast, lunch and dinner. And leaving my toddler to wake to the neighbourhood and its mum (literally) downstairs.
Well, upon arrival at hospital, the pain actually soon subsided. To the point that I was sent home.
It was passed off as a medical mystery, and we could relieve our kind friends and family of their duties (and allow them the resume the birthday house party my boyfriend had also interrupted in search of babysitters, and re-park the cars he'd rallied while waiting for the ambulance).
Well upon waking today, I've pottered about, still in pain, confused and a little concerned, and sent thank you messages around.
Everyone went out about an hour ago, and left me with the newborns for a while. Thought I'd take the opportunity to go to the loo...
WIBU to never, ever tell the entire neighbourhood, the in laws, and my sweet, wharp speed boyfriend that it turns out it was all because of a massive poo?