Pelvic flaws

10 Nov

A few years ago I wet myself whilst walking up a hill. I was not drunk. I wasn’t in shock. No, when I wet myself aged 28 I was no where near the ‘natural’ age of incontinence. I was merely walking up a hill with my two children and had been desperate to pee. I should have gone when I felt the first twinges, but laden down with nappies, one child in a buggy, another by my side and at Superdrug checkout, I figured I’d have to wait. There weren’t even any public loos on the high street, so the prospect of struggling into a café with my messy entourage seemed crazy, and I convinced myself that I could hold on.

Wait I did, but not until home. My bladder couldn’t take it anymore, so half way up that steep hill towards home, I swiftly took the blanket from my sleeping baby, tied it around my waist and peed myself. If ever there was a well-planned accident this was it, but unfortunately I was wearing faded denim and the wet patch was really obvious and the blanket wasn’t big enough. Luckily for me the hill was deserted and I made it home without having to blame the baby, though I had my excuses ready – “Oh, THAT wet patch. He’s only 4 months old but he grabbed my glass of water and spilt it all over my crotch! Ha ha!”

"What are you doing mum?"

Six years later you’d think I’d know better, but today I found myself in a very similar situation. The fact is, peeing has become something I rarely do on my own. Sometimes when out and about I have to lug three children to the loo with me. Together we are a wide, heavy and inconvenient load. Most of the time I’m sensible and remember to go when there’s an opportunity but today I was hopping from one foot to the other shouting at my two older kids and their friends to hurry up. I hadn’t needed to go when I’d left the cafe, but unlike the lady in the Tena adverts – “Another tea? Why yes, that would be lovely!” – I should have thought about the extra cup I’d downed. Time was of the essense and looking behind me, I saw the children were still dawdling, so I dived into a bush, pulled down my jeans and pants and peed. The relief was amazing. What I couldn’t help was the fact that there was a residential street facing my hideout. I couldn’t see anyone, but that’s not to say that somebody looking out of their living room window wouldn’t have been able to see my big white arse. Oh, and the fact that I had the baby strapped to my front in his carrier, looking up at me with an appropriately bemused look on his face.

I jumped out of the bushes just in time to meet the children still heading up the hill. “What were you doing mum?” they asked.“Just looking at that sweet Blue Tit,’ I replied, unphased. I always have answers now.

In between the two incidences I’ve just recounted I’ve had a few more near misses. Perhaps a favourite with the children is when I had to pee on to a nappy in the front seat of my car. I needed to go. I don’t wear Tena (yet) so I whipped a nappy out of the changing bag, laid it out on the drivers seat, yanked my trousers and pants down and peed. I may be imagining this, but I think somebody walked by the car and I looked in and smiled. They couldn’t see what was going on below the window line.

Perhaps my advice to anyone with a week pelvic floor is, take heed and do those boring exercises. I’m starting tomorrow, if it’s not too late.

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