'Right before my husband proposed I did something I've never told anyone about... until now.'

Warning: Poop story alert.

Only a handful of my friends and family know about this.

I eventually thought I’d share it, but for some reason I’ve always felt particularly horrified that it actually happened. Anywho… today just feels like the right day to share one of the more mortifying experiences of my life.

My husband and I had decided early on that we were “the ones” and knew we’d get married. One night Adam did the whole “you know I love you, we’ll get married… but can we start trying to get pregnant now?”

A couple of romps and three weeks later I was pregnant. High fives and “Yes Dear, you’re the Inseminator” jokes all round.

I made mention to my future husband early on of not wanting to be a pregnant bride. It had nothing to do with appearances, I was more concerned with watching 148 of our wedding guests drink champagne while I sat there in a tainted white dress, jealously sucking on some overpriced effing mineral water.

Even though I maintained this stance throughout my pregnancy, I still didn’t have a ring on my finger at seven months along. It was summer so I was big, hot and a tad emotional that we weren’t ‘officially’ engaged. I should have listened to Beyoncé.

On the morning of my birthday (December 14 for future reference people), Adam said, “ooooh, I’ve taken the day off and I’m going to take you on a picnic down by the lake”.

Nice. As a heavily pregnant starving woman who had only just consumed 1900 calories for breakfast, a picnic sounded fab! So off we went. We drove the car the incredible distance of 900 metres and then I waddled a further 200 metres to a sandy private area by the lake.

Lovely jubbily.

Adam spread out a picnic blanket and put out a few little pregnancy approved (read: everything on the planet) munchies for us. I waddled into the water and had a blood pressure cooling dip.

I must admit Adam seemed a tad nervous – but in my bloated unmarried pregnant mind, I just assumed he was on edge about being near a hormonally fueled pregnant woman.

And then I felt a low rumbling.

Oh, for the love of God and Adam Levine’s naked body, please not now. Not here. But I suppose what goes in must come out. So I clenched my medium size butt cheeks and said to Adam: “Oooh, I really need to go to the toilet.”

“Just go and wee in the water babe,” was his reasonable response.

“No Babe. I. Need. To. Do. A. Poo”

I started to panic as I wouldn’t make it to the Windang Surf Club toilets. A bikini-clad running pregnant women with clenched butt cheeks would never make a 200-metre dash in time. I also knew that an unsupported 90 kilo squat on a sandy knoll was completely out of the question.

So Adam said, “Just go into the water and do an aqua”

“Sorry? A what? An aqua?”

“An aqua…you just go in the water, pull your cossies to the side and do a poo. All the clubbies do it. Just check the current though, you don’t want that thing coming back at you.”

Oh. My. God.

Listen: The Mamamia Out Loud team share the most cringe-worthy work stuff-ups. Like the time Holly Wainwright sent a rogue text to her boss… (Post continues.)

I had heard rumours about this – and even knew not to swim in the warm-up area at a surf carnival. I just always thought that was about wee. Not a poo biscuit making a potential lunge at an unsuspecting swimmer.

Nope, definitely not for this ex-North Shore Girl non-clubbie classy Laaaady. I’m not a public pooper.

But an urge is an urge. And a pregnant woman’s urges wait for no-one. So in I went. Adam started giggling and yelling instructions from the shoreline.

Random thoughts of sharks being attracted to poo entered my mind. Could you imagine the headline:

“Pregnant woman’s bum torn out by hungry shark.”

Nervously I pulled my bikini bottoms to the side, defecated like a mad woman and then quickly swam away from the offending shark food.

I came out of the water feeling relieved, mortified and a tad corrupted. Adam even had the common sense to look suitably impressed.

I sat on the picnic blanket and we chatted for a while about love, life and all things non-aqua.

Next minute…

Adam had his hands inside the picnic bag fumbling with something. Out pops his hand with a diamond sparkler, his eyes get a little misty and he pops the question.

“Will you marry me?”

Holy Aqua Batman! Of course, I said yes and cried the tears of a sober, pregnant, recently ocean pooping emotional woman.

Pretty much the next sentence out of my mouth was, “If you ever tell another soul about my aqua though, I’ll seriously kill you”

Ain’t love grand?

It’s been 11 years and three kids since I fed the sharks at Windang on the South Coast now. Why not share this simple Australian story of poop and love?

This post originally appeared on Fiona’s Facebook page Rockstar Mums Drink Champagne. You can read the original post here.