So I have an excuse, I really do. What have I been doing the last four months that made it so difficult to blog one funny story? Well, I had heart surgery, bought a house, fixed up a house, went to Florida with my family, fixed up a house, had Christmas, and ran my little business. I've been busy okay!
*DISCLAIMER* This entry talks extensively about *cough* using the facilities. If this sort of thing offends you, you should probably stop checking my blog, but you might want to stop reading now.
So I've shared stories of nakedness, smart-alec-ness, and ketchup-ness, so you had to know a story of pants peeing-ness was coming.
Let me begin by saying, in my youth I could hold my pee forever. My dad was a road warrior...by that I mean, the car didn't stop unless the gas tank was empty. Did I mention the van we had in my growing up years had two gas tanks? Yeah. So the absolute soonest you would pee would be four hours after the last stop. When I was young, seven or eight, I told my dad that I really needed to use the facilities. He did not listen, or we were in the middle of Wyoming, which is the middle of nowhere and he couldn't stop. I choose to remember it as he wouldn't stop. Anyway, I wrapped myself in a yellow blanket and peed. I remember thinking, "this will show him," like he was going to clean up the pee, right. I didn't have that kind of dad, he was old school--as in my mom took care of all things pee oriented.
Anyway, with this history being known, you will understand my thinking this one day while shopping. I was probably seven months pregnant with Mia. I was shopping for dipping chocolate so I could make my father-in-law some cashew clusters for father's day. I had been all over town and was coming up empty. At the second to last store I felt the need to relieve myself. I should also mention at this point that I HATE public restrooms. I have been called a germ-a-phobe. I'm not, I just don't like the thought of sitting where someone else has sat. Ewww it gives me the gross-out-shivers as I write about it. So with this non-public-restroom preference, and my ability to hold my pee for hours on end, I decided to hold it.
By the time I entered Winco, my last store, I had to go pretty bad. I only needed a few things so I thought I would make it. I just had to keep moving, and when I stopped I crossed my legs and danced. I made my way through the store and got to the front, and realized I could not hold it any longer. So I decide to give up and use the bathroom *shiver* You know how as soon as you make up your mind to actually go instead of hold it, your pee holding muscles go on vacation and you suddenly have to go twenty times worse than you had to go five seconds previous. This theory is proved in children needing to go to the bathroom. Brandon will be fine and dandy and as soon as he announces he has to pee, it is a race. From outside the bathroom you can hear the stomping dance that accompanies the taking off of the pants--well that's how things were shaping up.
I parked my cart by the bathroom and lifted Brandon out of the basket. I was really dancing now. We rushed into the bathroom straight to the handicap stall so there is room for all three of us, Bran, me, and my giant belly. I got into the stall and things were getting desperate. I was trying to lock the stall, which was proving to be harder than advanced calculus, when my body simply gave up and I started to pee....a lot. And either my pee holding muscles gave up from all the years of abuse, or there was a six pound baby sitting on my bladder, but I could not stop it for anything. I finally got the stall locked and ran to the toilet. I made it. I did my thing and looked for a little toilet paper to assist me in my time of need. And as if things weren't bad enough, there was not a shred to be found. At that point I was sure that God was having a slow day and needed some entertainment. While contemplating how to deal with this situation, my apparently genius son unlocked the door that I couldn't lock with a college degree, and took off running. I had no choice but to shake off, pull up my wet pants and hope to air dry. I chased him out of the stall and get him to pause so I could wash hands. We finished our shopping, and dripped our way home. Oh, if only I had the pee holding muscles of my younger years.