Rest Stops Are For Sissies

I found myself on the interstate, driving 70 mph, three kids in the back. It was a hot summer Sunday evening as we traveled the hour-long trek back home from my father's place.

I had to pee. And I'd even peed before leaving my dad's house. Call it postpartum bladder syndrome. Blame it on the water I chugged before hitting the road. I like to point the finger to Hubs. It's always best, even if he isn't present.

I made it a third of the way home and realized the urge was going to hamper my ability to see, think, and hear clearly. Those kegel exercises were holding up for the moment, but I wasn't sure it could last another forty minutes. I pressed on, though, because the idea of stopping to relieve myself wasn't an option. At all. Not in my mind.

You see, in the third row of the Mom-mobile, I had OJ passed out from his hard day's work of play. In the middle row, I had Evelyn sound asleep, facing backward, the wind blowing her little wisps of hair. Next to Evelyn, TO was sitting peacefully, trying to decide if he had to poop or if it was just a toot causing his belly to ache. He feared releasing the gas, however, due to recent past events where it wasn't just gas that was relieved into his little boy underpants.

And then Evelyn began to cry. And by cry, I mean scream like a banshee. I worried that she would wake up OJ, who would have joined her screams. That's what he does when jarred awake. I figured the only way to shut her up would be to feed her. It is times like these where formula feeding would be much easier. I could prepare or have a bottle prepared ahead of time, hand it to TO, and allow him to feed her while we continue our trek home and to the glorious toilet.

Sidenote: As a breastfeeding mom, I do feed her bottles. But when we're on the go, I rarely bring along the breast pump to pump excess milk after feedings, which is how I'd get a bottle full of milk to begin with. SO....on with the show....

Where were we? Oh yes, TO believes he has to poop, but promises to hold it. OJ is still snoring in the far row, and Evelyn is screaming at me while my bladder threatens to relax and empty. I decide to exit the interstate, pull into an empty office building parking lot, and feed Evelyn. OJ miraculously stays asleep through the quick snack and we were on the road again in eight minutes. My bladder was still screaming, so I did what any sacrificing-self-for-child's-sleep mama would do.

I slid a diaper into my panties.

Don't worry. I didn't take one of the kids' diapers. I did that last summer. No, I used an extra postpartum diaper pad that the hospital gives to mamas. I kept the two extra I had just for such an occasion, placing them in my glove compartment.

One would think I'd be ashamed of this story, but I find that by sharing it, others might be more inclined to find reasons to use the things we think we won't. A sort of recycling project, if you will.

So, I slid the diaper pad in and waited for relief. And I waited. And waited. I couldn't release it. I started to think Wow...this is truly a mind over matter experience. I'm going to be able to hold it!! I found joy in the fact that my mind would control my bladder for me and I wouldn't have to sneak in the house with a soiled diaper...from MY crotch.

And then I got angry. I had performance anxiety. I was furious that I couldn't do it! Why can't I just pee and relieve myself!? I felt like I was a high school freshman in cross country again, and couldn't perform like I had in the past. So I changed strategy.

I tried leaning back and relaxing my body. Then I realized that was silly...I never lean back when I go to the restroom, so that position was unnatural. I leaned forward. I sat up straight. I hunched. I leaned to one side. I leaned to the other.

I finally gave up and resigned myself to peeing in the toilet. At home. I just hoped that Hubs wouldn't notice the fact that I was wearing a diaper pad when I waddled in the door. I couldn't handle two humiliations in a matter of an hour. Instead, I'll put it out here for the world to know. Sharing a secret with strangers offers greater relief than peeing ever will. Toilet OR diaper.