Before I got pregnant, I was horrified by some of the things my friends would tell me about parenthood or pregnancy. Time and time again they would reassure me, “it’s not a big deal” and then describe some horror involving someone’s nether regions.
For the most part, they were right–certain things stop mattering when you’re pregnant. Other things fall by the wayside when you’re a parent. I know that I have never, ever discussed poop as much as I do now and I freely share details with my doctor that are just plain odd. It is what it is.
Last week, however, I managed to completely embarrass myself in a way I thought was pretty much impossible.
I started having contractions. I’ve never had contractions before, but this was definitely a tightening of my stomach occuring every four minutes or so. It went on for over an hour, ignored my big glasses of water and position changes, and finally I gave in and called the doctor.
The doctor was at one of his satellite offices, so they directed me to head over to Labor and Delivery to be monitored for a while. If you’ve ever been pregnant, than you know there’s a drill for these things: show up, pee in a cup, and lie down to be monitored.
In theory, none of these things should be hard.
My reality was a tad different.
I head into the bathroom to pee and that’s when things got bad.
There are approximately ten mazillion signs in the bathroom on HOW to pee in the cup. First this, then this, don’t touch this, stand on one leg and hop in a circle. It’s all a little overwhelming–especially if you’ve already pulled your pants down.
So there I am, faced with the oh-so-difficult task of peeing in a cup. Drug addicts and professional athletes around the world have completed this task with little or no effort. Heck, my husband had random drug tests ALL THE TIME at his last job–with someone watching, no less–and he still managed to get it done. Me? Not so much. I pee in the cup successfully, but with a ginormous belly in the way, I failed to notice when the cup was full. I actually didn’t notice a thing until the pee started to run down my arm.
And all the while I have this list of instructions running through my head–don’t touch this, or this, or OH MY GOODNESS LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE! Ack! I finally give up, put the dang cup on the floor, in the process spilling even more pee. At this point there is literally a puddle on the floor.
I’m a grown woman, I have a nurse waiting for me to emerge with a neat cup o’pee and I have just left a puddle on the floor of a public restroom.
So, I get to work–I clean myself, I clean the outside of the cup, I clean the floor. There are a lot of paper towels involved.
And then I casually emerge and hand my cup to the nurse like nothing has happened. I may have lost a lot of my dignity when I became a mother, I’ve still got my pride.