I Don't Know The Last Time I Peed  

I woke up yesterday morning at 5:30am to find my daughter crawling into bed with me. This is an unusual circumstance; typically, once she makes her way out of her bedroom, she is ready to go for the day. But on this day, she was more than happy to curl up on DH's empty side of the bed (he'd left for the gym almost an hour earlier, God bless him) and shut her eyes again.

I should have been in heaven, but all I could think about was my bladder. I had to pee, but I knew that if I got up, she'd wake up... and that was out of the question.

When she did wake up 90 minutes later, she did so by shouting that she had to use the restroom, so we dashed to her bathroom, stripping her clothes off along the way. No sooner had I started to sit down on the porcelain throne than Baby C started crying bloody murder in his nursery; apparently, the flushing of the toilet next door woke him up. Thwarted again.

After that, it was a whirlwind of changing and nursing the baby, walking the dog, making breakfast, cleaning up from breakfast, getting G into her clothes for preschool summer camp and nursing the baby again. I managed to brush my teeth, slap on some SPF-moisturizer and throw my hair up into a ponytail to get her out the door and to preschool by 9am... without ever making it to the bathroom.

You'd have thought I got home from dropping her off and headed straight for the bathroom, but you'd have thought wrong. Baby C had made the world's biggest fart on our drive home, resulting in the changing of the most disgusting diaper I've ever seen. 47 wipes, three cloth diaper inserts and one impromptu bath later, he was clean. He was also hungry. So I nursed him again before putting him down for his mid-morning nap.

Finally, peace and quiet and -- CRASH!!! Just when it looked like I'd finally to be able to relieve myself, the garbage truck started making its way down the street. Normally, this wouldn't be cause for concern, but it's bulk trash pick-up week in our neck of the woods, and I was thrilled at the idea of the trashmen finally getting our old queen-size box spring off our lawn... until I saw them driving away with the box spring still squarely on my curb! I dashed out the door, running two houses down to alert them to their oversight, only to be told they didn't have enough room in that truck for the box spring and a second truck would be by later in the week to pick it up.

Just as I was heading up the driveway -- with the restroom on my brain -- I spotted the mailman coming up the street. As I was waiting for a paycheck from my freelance job, I figured I would wait to collect the mail myself. The check wasn't there, but G's preschool confirmation letter was, along with three unsolicited credit card offers, two weekly store circulars and a letter from my alma mater asking for (more) money. I adhere to the "only touch mail once" policy, so I immediately walked into the house and began to sort, file and shred it all.

By now it was 11:25am, and my G-free morning was almost at an end. I had just enough time to wake up C from his nap, change his diaper and nurse him (again) before heading out the door...

Dammit, I forgot to pee again!

No use going back inside now, I'd already set the security alarm and gotten C into his carseat -- and since it's 152 degrees outside (only a mild exaggeration), I know better than to leave a baby in a car on a hot day, even if it is inside the garage.

Get to preschool, pick up G, start heading home... only to realize, we are out of peanut butter, jelly, fruit, milk, and just about anything and everything else I would use to make lunch. So we head to the store. I definitely will not be peeing in a Walmart public toilet.

By the time we get home, it's 1pm; G and C are starving. I make a quick sandwich for G, plop her down in her booster seat and grab C for a quick nursing session. He falls asleep mid-boob, so I swaddle him up and lay him down for another nap (at this point, he's slept more in the past 24 hours than I have in the past 24 weeks). Simultaneously, G finishes her lunch and -- in an attempt to help clean up her dirty dishes -- puts a cup full of red juice directly into the dishwasher... which is full of clean dishes. So I spend 15 minutes sorting out what escaped the red storm, what can simply be rinsed and what must be completely rewashed.

I put flip on Disney Junior, because I'm too tired to take care of my kids, and finally make my way to the bathroom. Peace, quiet. I should set up camp here. Maybe I could hide a mini-cooler underneath the sink, or in the johnny cabinet. Wire the place for surround sound. Turn the mirror into a flat screen TV or wifi hotspot.

And just as I'm about to go, I realize... I don't have to go anymore.

Apparently, between nursing a starving three month old baby (who, by the way, is almost 18 pounds -- so definitely not starving) four times in nine hours and never once stopping to get myself a drink of water, my body "relieved" itself.

Oy.