Friday, November 2nd, 2012
If peeing your pants were an Olympic sport, I’d be Michael Phelps. I’m serious, people would line up to endorse me. I’d like to openly brag that my daily record has reached a new personal best, 4 times. I know Bob Costas is about to dial up my digits to schedule my heartwarming montage video/interview of humble beginnings to peeing champion. I’m ready for my closeup, Bob.
Prior to birthing a baby, I didn’t have the best non-pants wetting record anyway (just not a talent I was blessed with). Enter birthing a baby, and all bets were off that I’d be able to keep dry all day. Now, post-birthing a baby and what I can only assume is the little lady sitting on my bladder laughing uproariously as she causes me to pee every nanosecond, I have no hope of a pants free of pee day. Jokes on me for thinking adulthood is a sure bet when it comes to bladder control. I will never make fun of a Depends commercial again.
I felt like such a hypocrite potty training my daughter when really, I’m the one who needs to be trained. She loves to tell me she’s a big girl because she goes potty in the toilet. I’m not really sure what that makes me then. Definitely not the boss of my toddler since among other things, she schools me in bladder control everyday.
I understand now that the monster of a nagger I became during potty training stemmed from my shortcomings as a pee-er. I’d literally ask her every 15 minutes if she had to go to the bathroom because well, I did. Birthing babies and pregnancy made me completely incapable of remembering how long a normal, non-pregnant, kegel strong, individual can hold their pee. 3 hours? 4? Those seemed like such unattainable goals. Memo to me, memo to me, for future potty training attempts, do not do so while pregnant.
Let’s clarify, when I say “pee my pants” I’m not letting a river run down my leg multiple times a day. By my definition, peeing my pants can mean a few things. It means a dastardly trace amount trickles out when I do any activity that engages my pee muscles (read: dancing, running, talking, breathing). It means the tricky trickle that escapes after I thought I was all done going to the bathroom, did my hygienic duties, hiked up my trousers (with stretchy waist of course) and naively believed I was fresh and clean. Let it be known that the bladder has a leaky mind of its own and is no respecters of trousers.
Peeing my pants can also mean overestimating the amount of time I can hold it until I actually get to the bathroom and no matter how much potty dancing, sitting on my foot, or bending at my mid-section while clenching my booty together, can stop the flow from sneaking out before I get to the toilet. Oh, the glamorous life of a pregnant lady.
I have no shame about it anymore. How can I? I pee when I sneeze, I pee when I laugh, I pee when I pass gas. Bless my husband’s heart for learning to sleep through my nighttime groggy, stupor of a shuffle to the porcelain throne. And by bless his heart I mean, he’s a lucky son of a gun there’s no baby dancing on his bladder, interrupting his slumber.
Since writing down my deep thoughts on pee, I’ve peed twice. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions whether I was able to make it in time to the toilet or not. I never knew that staying dry was such a luxury before pregnancy and birth. Now, trying not to pee my pants? That “ish is cray” as the young kids say. I am an optimist, however. I’m six weeks clean of pooping my pants…but that’s an over-share for another day. The toilet beckons.
Image: Potty Cartoon via Cartoonresource/Shutterstock.com