La Binky Bitch over at Playgroups are no Place for Children posted the other day about how she pees when she sneezes. Because she’s delivered children. Out of her gina (long I). To that I say, welcome to the club. I have been pissing myself for 11 years. Because 3 very large babies shot out of my gina (long I). It’s not sexy and it’s not comfortable, and it makes for a lot of extra panties in the laundry. It’s also muy embarrassing if say, you’re talking to your skirt wearing Christian new neighbor with the long hair and no makeup, and you sneeze and instead of “excuse me” you say, “Aw shit. Not again” and then run inside without explanation before she sees the rather large and telling wet spot spread across the crotch of your yoga pants. Not that that’s happened. *ahem*
But Binky? Want to know what’s even more embarrassing than that? Try farting with every step you take (every move you make). While Olivia was making her way down Cooter Highway my ob-gyn decided she needed more room and cut me. 4th degree – which means through muscle, etc.. No biggie. I’d had an episiotomy before with the other 2 girls. I’d recovered without incident. I full excepted to with this one.
Maybe not. I could not control my gas for almost a YEAR after Olivia was born. It was like I was perpetually wearing corduroy pants because I made that zipzipzip sound when I walked. I’d squeeze my cheeks together until I was red in the face but I didn’t have enough sphincter strength to hold back gas. “You’re lucky,” my ob-gyn informed me when I complained. “Sometimes women with a 4th degree can’t hold back their stool.” How awesome is that? I guess I was lucky, but it still didn’t lessen my issue with the farting and the smell and the having to make sure a grocery aisle was empty before I took my cart down it lest I become overcome with tha vapors and offend the delicate sensibilities of the unfortunate souls of those who happened to need onion soup mix too. “At least,” I’d console myself as I motorboated through the store, “At least I’m not shitting myself.”
Until one very bad day when Olivia and I were at her pediatrician. We waited in the exam room, Olivia being adorable and pink and fluffy with her 3 month oldedness and me making faces in a desperate attempt to elicit that first giggle, and I sneezed. And peed my pants full on. And then I – well, I totally sharted. Talk about being frozen in terror. I knew the doctor would be opening the door any second so I did what any other honest woman would do. I hauled ass out of the office, drove home, showered, and then called back to explain that we’d had a family emergency. I don’t know about you, but I think crapping your pants in public counts as a family emergency.
I can assure you that it only happened once, but from that moment on I lived in fear. Knock on wood it hasn’t happened since, and it’s been three years, but I think I’m safe. Still, there are worse things than peeing your pants when you sneeze. My ob-gyn was right.