Pregnancy and Its “Beauty”

Pregnancy is a crazy thing. I used to think it was beautiful and I suppose it can be depending on the day. For me, it’s elicited some things that I’m a little embarrassed about, to say the least. Obviously, not so embarrassed that I won’t share with everyone on my blog.

My first pregnancy was basically a piece of cake. I was tired a lot, but other than that things were pretty smooth. I was still working at that point as well, so all I really had to do was go sit at a desk for 8 or 9 hours a day. Not a lot of strenuous work. I actually felt beautiful during that pregnancy. Perhaps it was the fact that the majority of my pregnancy was during the summer and I was able to wear some of the cutest dresses (mostly recycled maxi dresses I was wearing pre-pregnancy). This time around, I’m having to scrounge for clothing and since I’m tall, finding pants with at least a 36 inch inseam is a bit difficult and costly. So, needless to say, I’m not feeling as hip and pretty as the last time around.

There was only one instance that was made me feel less than regal and less than feminine while I was pregnant with Davey. It was on a Thursday morning, about 7:45, and I stood in the lobby of my office, with a gaggle of other co-workers waiting patiently for an elevator to arrive. Once we were all on the elevator and it was moving, I had this uncomfortable sensation that I needed to pass gas. Normally, I would just hold it and trust me I tried, but unfortunately it snuck out. I was at the back of the elevator, as my floor was the very top. I noticed the smell slowly creep out from my back corner like a rolling poisonous fog. It began to consume individual co-workers and I watched as those who were near comatose (because they hadn’t had coffee and were still technically asleep) immediately jolt awake. Some turned around looking to see where the smell was coming from, while turning up their noses. I followed suit with them in the hopes that they didn’t know it was me. As soon as the elevator opened (not on my floor by the way), they all fell out like a bag of dominoes leaving me alone. They had to know it was me. How embarrassing.

Flash forward two and a half years and I have yet another less than ladylike moment. The only reprieve I have from this was the fact that it happened in the privacy of my own home.

Last week, I took a nap while my son was napping (might as well get in some sleep now, because it’s going to be a while before it happens again). When I awoke, Henry was treating my bladder as if it were punching bag, so I immediately took off to the bathroom. I emptied my bladder, quickly feeling like I lost 20 pounds, before walking back into the kitchen to grab myself a glass of water. Now here’s where the craziness commences. While pouring myself a glass of water at the sink, I start to feel something warm running down my leggings. What was this? I didn’t have a sensation of needing to pee. Henry wasn’t even moving around. Was this my water breaking? I look down to see just a couple of drops of water drip onto the floor from my legs.

Immediately I take off to the bathroom. I sit down on the toilet and try to pee again, but nothing! I call the doctor, go into in depth detail about what had just occurred. I answered a few questions that I found to be a bit embarrassing and then listened as the doctor told me I basically just peed on myself. Are you kidding me? I’m 38 years old, not 98! I’ve never had a bladder issue. The last time I peed on myself was when I was potting training 36 years ago.

I was mortified. I even told the doctor that. He proceeded to gracefully chuckle and tell me it’s a common occurrence and at least it didn’t happen while I was in public. True! It could have been worse, but the fact that pregnancy (particularly this one) is causing me to loose control of my bodily functions is making me feel less than beautiful.

Just this morning, after immediately peeing, I stayed seated on the toilet for a couple of seconds. There was no rush, so why not wait to see if anymore trickled out? When I figured I was in the clear, I walked out of the toilet. My son was standing at the vanity brushing his teeth. He turns around to face me right at the time I feel a sneeze coming on. When said sneeze hit, so did my newfound propensity to need to pee. In front of my son, whom I’m trying to potty train, I peed on myself. My son takes the toothbrush from his mouth while looking down at the pee on the floor and says to me, “oh no, Mama. Big boys pee pee in the potty.” He then points at the toilet before turning around to continue to brush his teeth.

And so goes the final few weeks of my pregnancy. I’m really looking forward to this one being over.