[I pee my pants.]
The first time it happened I was appalled. DISGUSTED. I was running my usual three-mile stretch when I sneezed. A healthy cleansing sneeze. I'm one of those people who looks at the sun for two seconds and sneezes. It's called Photic Sneeze Reflex. And since I live in Florida, I sneeze all the time. I actually (used to) enjoy it. I found it refreshing. That was, until I got pregnant and started pissing myself. Let me preface this by saying it's been a long time since I peed my pants. YEARS. Well, except for that one time in high school when my friend Sarah cracked a joke that had me rolling.
I suppose in a sense, it's reminded me of what it feels like to be a baby with soggy drawers. It's irritating. No wonder kids cry when their diapers are wet. ANYWAY. I stopped running. I threw my hands to my hips and sneered at my bulging belly. Damn you! I cursed, hoping the remark wouldn't cross the placenta. I wasn't cursing my fetus. He couldn't help that his apartment came with leaky plumbing. I was cursing his LANDLORD, or whoever it is that lords over the land of pregnant bodies. I cursed That Guy. (A woman would never design the uterus so that it sits on top of the bladder.) I cursed the small trickle of urine that had undoubtedly seeped through my underpants and onto my Nike running shorts. Eff it, I thought. If this is how it's going to be for five more months, so be it. I'm a pregnant pants pisser now. And in damp underwear, off I ran covering the rest of my three miles in long, gallant strides, sneezing twice more and pissing twice more. I tried to brace for the tinkles. Trust me. I crossed my legs and did my Kegels. I held my stomach and envisioned a faucet at the base of my urethra. A stainless steel Kohler faucet with ornate handles and an eco-friendly, airtight flow-restricting valve. The attempt proved futile. My once-Herculean pelvic floor muscles were buckling under pressure. So I made peace with the inevitable and appreciated the fact that my shorts were black. I suppose even if they weren't, I would have kept running. As any former preg will tell you, being with child means learning to live without ego. You adapt to the situation by wearing maxi pads to funny movies. So yeah. This is Confession No. 9. I'm just about 40 weeks pregnant and I piddle my pants in small amounts. Luckily, I have many pairs of underwear and a husband who thinks poor bladder control is borderline cute. So much so that he even invented a song about it to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. I can't remember all the lyrics, but I can tell you the first time I heard it I laughed so hard ... I peed my pants.