y husband has a “daily constitutional” around 9:30 every morning.. On the weekend this means grabbing his sports magazine and retreating into the guest bathroom for a 20 minute stretch. Before our daughter Ella came into our lives, I spent this time drawing out my luxurious morning snooze. But now that the baby is here, my husband's regularity is something I resent.

Why? Because it's not me in the can. First, I’m left to entertain Ella, who is so tired of spending the entire week with me, that all she does is scream for her Daddy while he's holed up in there. Second, I haven’t been able to read a magazine article in one setting since September of last year, so why should he get to? And third--and perhaps most importantly--I haven’t had a good poop myself in a very very long time.

When I was pregnant, it seemed like I spent 70% of the day on the potty and none of the How to be Pregnant books said to enjoy those trips while I still could. And I never realized how wonderful a good poop could make me feel. Sitting there, reading or daydreaming, or maybe just looking at myself in the mirror, I could organize my day. I could put plans together. I solved problems. Those five minutes or whatever that I had completely to myself, were indispensable to my mental well being. And of course you can't beat the elimination factor. Now it seems I just feel bloated and heavy, and sometimes a little bit cranky.

When we first started dating, my husband and I talked about our desires in life, and both of us wanted to have one parent at home if we ever had kids. We didn't toss a coin about who the lucky one would be, but once he started law school, I realized it would be me. People just don’t spend $100,000 on a graduate degree and then stay home changing diapers. No matter, I was excited at the prospect. I thought of all kinds of projects I could do: Start writing again, start painting again, take up photography again, all of the things that had been sacrificed by working over time and collapsing at the end of the day. So, I was a little naive about the time involved in being Mommy.

But I never thought it would mean the end of having good poops. And I've realized that being the Mommy in this family means I’m not really able to have metaphorical poops either. My husband is working tirelessly to make the money of two people. He’s stressed out and tired, he fights traffic both ways and tries to be home early enough to love on Ella, so no matter how my bad a day I may have had, I wait to see how his day went before I poop out all my problems to him.

I know, I know, its a personal problem. I need to make time for myself, and communication is the key to a healthy relationship and etcetera and so on. But then there is my angel, Ella. During the day, I don’t even realize I need to use the potty. And when I do, inevitably, it is towards the end of nap time, and she wakes up and howls for me right in the middle of it. I admit, she is my weakness.

But, at the moment, Daddy and Ella are taking a walk, and I have the opportunity to vent, so here goes: I’m lonely, I’m sleep-deprived, I’m frustrated about not contributing financially to our household, I hate our furniture, Oprah was a re-run, the batteries on Ella’s kick-start gym are dead, the presidential candidates are idiots, they never ask me if I want a make-over, I’ll never be a great writer, I don't know if I’m doing this whole Mommy thing wrong, I’m too fat, Ella’s too skinny, I’m constipated, I’m not ready for my garage sale next week, I want a TV armoire, and I hate my hair!

Ahhh, that felt as good as the real thing. But I confess, I did stop early... Daddy and Ella are coming in the door. I really missed them.