It takes a certain dexterity. It’s uncomfortable. It’s complicated and gross… not to mention UNfabulous. But sometimes there’s no other choice. That which won’t kill you will make you stronger. Who knew that peeing in a McDonald’s bathroom would make me feel so invincible?
Driving back home from a weekend visit to Grandma & Grandpa’s house (a 3-hour road trip), I naively thought I could get away with doing the 200+ mile journey without making a pitstop. But one Diet Coke and my bladder started to rebel a little past halfway through. The situation took me back to my preggy days. The pressure. The urgency. The mere thought of running water almost causing a major disaster on my leather carseats. With no decent rest stop in sight, I kept driving… and driving… until those familiar golden arches came into view. I parked in a panic, fell out of my car door, ripped my little girl outta her carseat, slammed, locked up and with one swift swing of the glass doors went flying into Micky D’s bathroom. Ooops. Forgot to get that stroller from the trunk. No baby Ergo, Bjorn or diaper bag either. There I was standing in the stall (a 20-lb baby in my arms), this close to bursting like a broken damn, irrationally thinking: “Just put her on the floor… it’ll be good for her immune system.” Then I thought of what Hubby would think if she somehow contracted some rare disease that was traced back to that particular McDonalds’ ladies’ restroom floor. Not an option.
By now my tummy looked like it was 5-months pregnant and I was out of time. One handed, I did what I had to do. Baby hanging in one arm (looking at me, with furrowed and confused brows), I seat-covered, unzipped and pulled-down my pants with my one free hand and collapsed on the toilet… baby on my lap. Tinkle tinkle tinkle…. tinkle. (At this point she turned her head up and looked at me… giggling from the sound.) Relief. Disgusting, totally unavoidable and almost too embarrassing to admit… but also completely EMPOWERING.
I had a problem and I handled it BY MYSELF. My teeny biceps ached from the hanging baby. My legs hurt from the ridiculous wiggles to get my jeans to slip down my hips. But I got such an irrational high (emotionally) from accomplishing what seemed to be impossible that I’m now convinced I must get out more.
Having help for handling kids is welcomed and absolutely necessary for raising babies… but if you have assistance for every single tiny situation every second of your life, how are you going to know what to do when that help isn’t available? I’m not suggesting to pee with your baby on your lap all the time, but one time might do ya some good. If you’re like me, you just might learn something new. Who’s done it?
(Needless to say, I skipped getting a second Diet Coke for the rest of the drive home.)