Bladder Business

The most dangerous thing that can happen to any woman who has had children is a sudden, powerful, unexpected sneeze. If you've had two or more children a good hearty sneeze can send you running straight to the underwear department of the nearest store. If you're me, a sneeze, even a small ahhh-choo is a guaranteed bladder dribble.

Back in the day, some time yonder, I wanted to have buns of steel, worked on having abs of steel and I literally had a bladder made of steel. I could camel through an entire day at the office that included several morning coffees, many midday sodas, several water chasers and wine with dinner without visiting a Ladies Room more than twice. Nocturnal trips to the bathroom were unheard of and long car rides up the Taconic never included a McDonald's pit stop. My bladder was the one to bet on. She could nearly carry me through eleven-hour flights to Israel and full days of skiing wearing a one-piece snowsuit with a fashion belt. 



My bladder strength was epic. 



Three beautiful kids later, my bladder is slightly more effective at holding in liquid than a strainer. Which is probably why I recently found myself in a Marshall's, shopping for household nonsense when I was sneak-attacked by a shuddering sneeze. This sneeze was so fast and so intense, its purpose could be none other than to test the atrophying strength of my bladder walls and surrounding muscles. Or, maybe its purpose was just shear humiliation? Either way the outcome was the same. 


This sneeze was no match for my pathetic bladder nor was it a match for my Lulu Lemon black athletic, yoga pants. As it reared its nasty arc of fury, my right hand instantly reached out for the toddler clearance rack for stability. My right leg, practiced in this drill, should have automatically, Pavlovian-like in reflex moved to cross over my left, creating a double helix of security.  It didn't. My left hand would normally and immediately lunge to the about-to-be-affected body part, cementing the final seal of sneeze security in place. It didn't. This was a case of complete system malfunction.

This sneeze was rogue and fast and my normal Navy Seal like maneuvering was no match in the end. Another sneeze had its way with me and my yoga pants, which weren't proving to be as solid in the absorption department as they were in the flexibility one. I definitely lost pee due to do a system failure. This was not the first time, or the last, and this particular misery does like company.

My friends and I laugh, happy to be able to share this type of intimacy. My friends have dribbled during tennis matches. A good solid giggle is a guarantee. An urgent cough does not arrive unaccompanied, and jumping for joy means taking the consequence.  I pee about 50 times before sex because if I don't...



Thank goodness for tinted windows

So there I was in Marshalls, slowly recovering from a sneeze assault with my partially wet yoga pants, no long jacket for coverage and obscurity and a long walk to either the bathroom or my car. Standing still for a few minutes ended up being my only option. Mercy can be slow and torturous like Manhattan's Sixth Avenue during rush hour. My yoga pants reabsorption rate was snail-like and uncomfortable. I wanted out. Out of the store. Out of the wet pants. Into the car where, I quickly kicked off my sneakers, yanked down my uncomfortable pants and threw them into the back seat. Half naked, I buckled up, checked my rearview mirror and started my drive back home.