I have to pee. Again.

When I was in my 20’s, I was going to grad school and working at the Gap.   There was a mom who also worked there part-time as a sales associate.  She was a little wacky.  I often worked the early shift with her, and we had to be there an hour before the store opened.

One time as we were folding jeans, she randomly lay down on the floor.

“Uh, are you okay?” I asked.

“Oh yeah.  I’m just doing my Kegels,” she answered matter-of-factly.

“Um, what the hell are Kegels?” I asked.

And that was when I learned what was in store for me if and when I decided to have kids.

From that day on I made fun of that poor woman whenever we worked together.  She had a pretty good sense of humor about it.  We had quite a few laughs, at her expense.  But while I was laughing on the outside, I was horrified on the inside.

And I was extremely confident that what had happened to her couldn’t ever actually happen to me.

Well, here I sit, 20 years later.

When I go for a run, I have to plan the route so that all downhill sections occur within the first 10 minutes.

When I feel a sneeze coming on, I have to stop all movement, cross my legs, and hope for the best.

If I dare step foot in a bouncy house or on a trampoline, I have to hold my boobs with one hand and my crotch with the other.

It’s gotten seriously out of hand, so I went to the doctor, and he gave me this.

A Daily Voiding  Diary.

Nice.

Not only do I have to go see a dude and admit to him that I wet my pants, consistently… I also have to write it down.

So now there is evidence….

And recording your “leakage” is a real self esteem booster.

I wish I knew where Mama Kegels was now.  If I did, I’d lie right down on the floor next to her.

All the sudden, she doesn’t seem so wacky.

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