“If peeing your pants is cool, consider me Miles Davis.”
–Old Farm Lady on Billy Madison
I heart Sarah because she regularly Overshares on her blog The Sadder But Wiser Girl, which is where today’s post was first published. Sarah’s inability to control her bladder and her willingness to then write about it make her tops in my book. Here for your amusement, please welcome:
We’re avoiding Target as much as possible these days because it’s just too darn fun. Target just goes from 0 to $100 in no time flat. It’s those dang end aisles, the clearance, and stuff that is just really cool! Any list you bring in there somehow disintegrates or gets extra items added to it. Therefore we’re forced to go to my least my favorite place in the world, Wal-Mart. On the list today is the biggest bag of dog food for the smallest price and pasta that helps us poop. Sounds like a fun trip, doesn’t it?
Upon inspection of the dog food prices, it looked like the 50 pound bag of Ol’Roy was going to be the best deal. Less than $20 for 50 pounds of dog food? That’s, um, less than 50 cents a pound (don’t ask me to break it down more than that). We’re used to buying the 17 pound bags of Puppy Chow with a coupon. But this is MUCH cheaper. I don’t know why we even bother, the dog would rather eat trash or steal our food than actually eat dog food. I sat and watched him eat a stick today. Really?
Of course now that I have made the decision that yes indeedy this is what we are going to buy, I realize that it may be difficult to get it into the cart. How do other people buy that stuff anyway? Do you go find someone and ask for them to haul it up front? Oh wait, that’s Target. Repeat after me, Target is BAD. It has the hypnotic eye.
I study the bag carefully. It’s only 50 pounds. I’m not a professional weightlifter, I just say it like that because I have kids that weigh not much less than that who still insist on being carried. But this bag is just so, BIG. I figure I can probably slide it onto the bottom part of the cart. I pulled on the bag, it slid towards me pretty easily. I grabbed hold of it with all of my might and pulled it off the top of the pile.
And as the bag came off and into my waiting arms, I peed my pants. That’s right, I dribbled right into my own undies. I was now at Wal-Mart with a wet crotch, staggering around with a bag of dog food that weighed more than my seven year old son. I really hope the “People of Wal-Mart” cam didn’t happen to be following me right at that moment. If so, I can assure you that I am wearing adequate clothing and no children were buried under things in my cart.
I admit it, I’ve dribbled in more places than a leaky garden hose. Thanks kids.
Ah the joys of motherhood. It’s amazing how a body that can hold another human being inside of it can’t contain it’s own pee. It’s not a new problem for me, I’ve had it since I gave birth to my son. It’s not like I just pee my pants randomly though, there’s always some sort of force involved.
Have you ever walked down a hallway, stopped and crossed your legs because you knew a sneeze was coming? I call it the “Antipee Maneuver”, because when you have those issues you have to make some adjustments to anything that involves moving around and muscle contractions. Take the gym. I used to go to exercise classes religiously at 5:30 in the morning two or three days a week (yeah I don’t know how I ever did that either). It was ok except for anything that involved jumping. I am unable to do jumping jacks without wetting myself. So I do a sort of half jack where I don’t actually spread my legs. It’s more like just jumping while I wave my hands in the air. I also can’t jump rope. When we would do jump roping, I would have to do it one leg at a time. Fortunately no one else caught on that I was struggling.
It doesn’t stop there. My husband knows darn well that he can make me pee my pants. He knows because he’s seen me do it. He’s been known to pick me up and shake me, tickle me, or sneak up and scare me, all with the same result-a little bit of tinkle in the nether regions. This evening he thought it would be EXTREMELY funny to sit on me and tickle me. I warned him about the consequences of said tickling-in other words I shrieked, “I HAVE ALREADY PEED MY PANTS ONCE TODAY, DON’T MAKE ME DO IT AGAIN!!!!” He quit, but more because I wasn’t being any fun than it was from my threatening voice.
At thirty eight years old, I know by now that it pays to be prepared for most situations. But since I am ADD, I tend to NOT be prepared unless it’s that time of the month. I just forget until it’s too late. I’ve been known to have to buy new underwear when out and about for the day. I’ve also been known to go home and change my pants and come back. You’d think I’d learn to have either pantiliners or emergency underwear handy, much like I have extra underwear for my kids just in case. Nope.
Hey I bet you’re wondering what happened to the bag of dog food. Oh I got in on the cart. I had to pretty much lay on the floor of the aisle and shove the bag on to the little part underneath the cart. I also managed to somehow get it out of the cart and into my trunk. It’s still in my trunk. My husband can bring it in, because I bet he won’t pee his pants doing it. Guys have it so easy.
* Sarah first shared this tale with us on May 27, 2013 and it remains among the most popular Oversharing posts! *