I was almost disappointed when we made it to school on time the other day and I didn’t get to write down ‘Tiddles McGee’s Arse Explosion’ as our excuse for being late. Yes, a last minute trip to the toilet by my youngest child put our (so far) perfect punctuality record for 2010 in jeopardy for a few minutes there. And for the record, ‘Tiddles McGee’s Arse Explosion’ a just like ‘Jon Spencer’s Blues Explosion‘, except it’s brown instead of blue.
Anyway, it turned out I had another explosion to deal with – of the yellow variety. Having had to run through the school grounds to deliver assorted children to their classrooms on time, I arrived triumphantly at The Pixie’s classroom only to feel what can only be described as a ‘Tena Lady Moment’.
Of course, there had to be a large group of attractive, well-dressed mothers milling about just outside said classroom. And of course, I had to be wearing jeans at the time and we all know how blue denim showcases wet patches as beautifully as if I’d taken a photo of my sodden crotch and posted it on twitter.
“Running late is so stressful,” one of the mums said to me sympathetically, misreading the look of horror on my face.
It was so tempting to reply “So is pissing your own pants!” in front of everyone. Except I’ve learnt to hold my tongue a little better since the time one of the school dads told me to “have fun” with my (newly fixed) washing machine and I found myself exclaiming “What kind of a fun are you suggesting, exactly??” while crowds of fellow parents stood and stared.
So instead, I just smiled and nodded and, sensing my wet patch might be growing at a similar rate to the population of New Mexico, slunk off as quickly as possible out of the school grounds and back to the car. And it was then that I found I was still holding The Pixie’s school bag in my hand.
I was wondering what I should do when another mum came up to me and started chatting and, before either of us knew it, I suddenly blurted out: “We were late for school and I had to run and I kind of lost control of my bladder and now I have to walk all the way back to The Pixie’s classroom because I still have her bag in my hand and everyone’s still standing around in the playground and they will all see my piss pants!”
Had I known her a little better, I might have then been able to ask her to assess the damage. But the moment my confession was made, it was like an invisible line was drawn at shoulder level and neither my eyes nor hers were able to wander below it for even a second.
She quickly made her excuses and I headed back into the school to drop The Pixie’s bag off, adopting the awkward gait of someone who is trying to walk without their thighs separating.
Of course, the same group of mums were still standing around, still looking attractive and well-dressed.
“I forgot Pixie’s bag!” I called out cheerfully to them, explaining my reappearance, but perhaps not the strange way I was walking. Thankfully, they quickly returned to chatting amongst themselves and I, blushing from head to soon-to-be waterlogged toe, delivered the bag to the classroom and scurried back to the car.
Once I got home, I rushed straight to the toilet so I could finally inspect the full extent of my shame. And was surprised to discover that the seemingly ginormous wet patch was actually the size of a ten cent coin and would only have been visible to someone attempting to do the limbo under my crotch.
I mean, sheesh! No wonder they call it stress incontinence.
Hey, when 3 bowling balls come out of what is essentially a hole the size of a fifty cent piece, and stretching occurs.
I can’t jump on the trampoline or skip with a skipping rope without pissing my pants. Husband thinks it is hil-ar-ious. Wait til I start wearing the Tenas to bed, see how frickin hilarious it is then.
BTW, that lady should have just offered to take the bag up for you. 🙂
Unfortunately I don’t have three vaginal births to blame on my own problem – although my middle pregnancy saw me carry around a baby the size of a small planet and that’s got to count for something…
Tena Lady to bed? Now, that’s some kinky shit right there.
Sunroof or the black hole, either way they come out they wreck our lovely lady bits. All for the best possible outcome of course. Still, doesn’t help at times when wetting myself trying to keep my MOTY status and jumping on the tramp.
He WISHES there were ten women hopping into bed with him. Downside, there would be ten afterglow conversations he’d also have to partake in. Probably not worth it.
Classic number 34 in a volume of 5 xx
Why, thank you, kind sir. xx
I have to ask. This is the sort of thing that, had it happened to me, I would have buried it in my subconscious and forgotten all about it except in those occasional nightmares where I dream that Mel Gibson is yelling at me and in response I pee myself.
I don’t think I would tell anyone at all about it. Not my husband, not my kids, not my therapist.
So…does confessing to the Internet make it less painful? I’m not being sarcastic at all here (I have to say that, because it’s usually not the case with me) – I just want to know because I’ve known quite a few people who relive their most hideously embarrassing moments with great relish to anyone who’ll listen.
I think the shame surrounding stress incontinence thing is really interesting/sad because it affects loads of people and then we don’t say anything because we’re ashamed and we don’t find out about possible solutions. I’m a total pelvic floor physical therapy convert.
Believe it or not, there are plenty of things that I do or have happen to me – some embarrassing, some just plain stupid – which I don’t put in my blog.
However, I agree with Tepary – stress incontinence is something that happens to a lot of us post-pregnancy and yet we feel like we can’t speak of it openly and it becomes this terrible shameful secret. And I don’t think that is healthy… That’s where comedy comes in as a perfect tool to make people feel less isolated.
Anyway, it’s only wee. It’s not like I shat my pants or anything… although there was this one time… (I’ll stop there, shall i?)
Honey, you don’t know me from…well piss, but we should talk.
Check out your health insurance if you have it. How much physical therapy it covers – Pelvic Floor PT is absolutely wonderful. They work miracles, it isn’t just kegels.
No private insurance… however, I do try to remember to my pelvic floor at red lights… when I’m not shouting at the kids, that is.
Once again, you have spoken what is usually left unspoken and the women of the world should thank you. Hurrah for the NDM! (sorry, not sure where that jolly-hockey-sticks style came from….I should really get back to work).
Thank you. The world needs to get over itself sometimes. We all wee. We all poo and fart and occasionally have to pick our noses. Why do we have to pretend our bodies *don’t* do these things??
and holy hell those pelvic floor exercises are BORING!
Well you can incorporate them into other more fun activities…
Now you’re just getting kinky, like Bern and her Tena Ladies in bed.
And Bern, you should probably tell your husband you mean *Tena* Ladies and NOT *Ten* Ladies. He might get unduly excited, otherwise.
Yes I am doing them RIGHT NOW. Thanks for the reminder NDM.
You could incorporate your pelvic floor excercises into activities also involving your new washing machine.
And maybe the nice man from school who told you to have fun.
Just sayin’
Still, I feel your pain. Except I make my kids carry their own bags because I am lazy cow.
Or possibly worst mother in world, depends on who you ask.
Even we bad mothers wee our pants sometimes. And it’s always the jeans. Except when I’m wearing my jarmies …
The idea of pelvic floor exercises a-top of the washing machine with one of the dads from school… I have to applaud your ability to tie all the threads of my post together in such a creative way!
However, my husband forbids it. Especially considering how much it cost to fix the washing machine the first time.
Hmm. Fair call on hubbies part.
However, would also suggest considering potential cost of fixing pelvic floor before ruling out pelvic-floor-washing-machine-dad-from-school strategy.
The other may also require involvement of gyneacologist … additional cost …
There’s also the fact I’m not sure the school dad would be that interested now I’ve posted information about my leaky-lady-love-bits on the internet.
Okay, so I’m thinking this like one of those moments where a kid throws up and then everyone within a cooee of ground zero with a moderately sensitive gag reflex joins in just for the fun of it…
Seriously though, It’s an achievement to say the least when you pee your pants, and in the sharing of said discomfort; cause women around the world to join you in the yellow river experience by inducing paroxysms of laughter!
I love your honesty.
Incontinence; the ultimate display of maternal love….
xo
Yes, I’m spreading the (yellow) love today…
‘Incontinence: the ultimate display of maternal love…’ – beautifully said and true. Although I think listening to any song featuring Dorothy The Dinosaur and/or Captain Feathersword might be up there too.
Oh I’ve missed you. You’ve not been anywhere of course. I just haven’t been over here for a while. I need to come here more often because you make me laugh. I laugh until I have a little wet patch in my jarmies! I love how you take such an “embarrassing” subject and make it funny and somehow seem cool. Well almost.
I love it that I even got close to cool with that story. It certainly didn’t feel cool at the time. Actually, it was quite warm, to be quite honest…
It’s just as well I had relieved myself after racing home to the toilet after the school and supermarket run (not to mention after birthing three children) or I might have been cleaning the couch upholstery instead of leaving this comment. How ironic that a post about stress incontinence could be capable of bringing on a case of stress incontinence. Only you could achieve this, NDM.
And what’s with all these attractive, well-dressed women milling about, anyway? Don’t they have better things to be doing?
They were probably all wearing Tena Lady and therefore didn’t have to ‘rush’ anywhere, like you and I.
And thanks for your kind words about my sordid post…
Hahahaha … and I loved Mad Cow’s suggestion too. I also do my pelvic floor exercises at the traffic lights, at the doctor’s surgery, in the supermarket. My lady muscles should be rock-hard by now …
Love the expression Lady Muscles. Will have to work it into a sentence before the end of the week.
In one of the reports you have to write at work, I hope!
KC is right. ‘Lady muscles’ rocks my world.
Hey, you have my sympathies here too! Ain’t no shame about it. Well… actually, there’s a piss-tonne, but what I mean is, you’re right (IMO) when you say bodies do these things, why do we have to pretend they don’t.
I am woman, with wrecked pelvic floor! I am, four years after giving birth to our second child, STILL sometimes to be found in the kitchen at a 90º angle in an attempt to try and stem the onslaught if I haven’t heeded the first inkling of a warning from my bladder or been able to get there because someone else’s duty calls (and that is the worst, when it’s between letting your child wet her pants or you – now THAT is the ultimate act of love).
And that hold-it-together walk is some strenuous exercise! They should do that in gym classes.
I think every pre-pregnancy woman should practice clenching an orange between their thighs and then running 100 metres. It will serve them well in such situations as described above.
I loved this, not only because I can relate (although for me the true tragedy lies in trampolining) but because it is such a wonderful example of wit and humour put to good use.
Why not tell entertaining stories about these things? They are entertaining!
Most bodily functions make for good comedy. Everybody loves a fart joke – except The Mild Mannered Lawyer, that is, who once banned me from referring to my own farts in this blog.
I’m new to your blog. THis is the first post I’ve read. Found you via BeingMe. And might love you just a little, already. I dont’ believe in love at first sight. But that doesn’t mean I can’t love you at first pee.
Two kids, one the size of the Milky Way and my pelvic floor hates me. Like calls me a bitch and talks about me behind my back hates me. So I hear you.
And I cannot believe that the mother in the car park didn’t offer to take Pixie’s bag to the classroom for you. It’s what I’d have done.
In the other mother’s defence, she was rushing off to attend to her own business (whether that business took place on the toilet or not remains unknown).
I’m sorry to hear that your pelvic floor hates you so much. Make sure it doesn’t get a twitter or facebook account and start cyber-bullying you, okay?
Is there a Wii for Pelvic Floor Exercises?
Sorry.
Anywaaaaay. Thanks for shoehorning Jon Spencer Blues Explosion into your blog (Blues Explosion!). Coolest mover with a guitar this side of Joe Strummer. Did someone bet you to do it?
“BELL BOTTOMS! BELL BOTTOMS! BELL BOTTOMS!”
No bet. Not this time…
“An invisible line drawn at shoulder level” is a perfect description of the human behaviour that inevitably applies to all discussions on leakage – vaginal or otherwise.
I must say ‘leakage’ is a word that needs to be used more often. Put that in your report, too, please.
Reminds me of my favourite line from The Thick of It;
(information has got out and the leak has to be uncovered)
“Him? He doesn’t leak. At least not from the mouth.”
And by the way, kudos to you for your enormous bravery in writing this. I think everyone loves you that little bit more for it.
Everyone might love me that little bit more, but I can bet they’ll be laying the antimacassars down on the seats of their white suede couches before they let me sit down.
Well, thanks for giving me my own ‘Tena Lady Moment’ (ROFL)… you are too, too funny for my too, too sad little bladder.
Thank you.
I’m hoping Tena Lady will send me some freebies off the back of this post. I’ll be handing them around to all my readers, mark my words.
I once worked with a woman named Tena. She’d just moved here from the US and was totally loving all the piss jokes about her name. Like, totally. Also this post is epic win.
A win for blogging but not for bladder control, perhaps. Thank you, Ms Milk.
I nearly peed myself with laughter, but fortunately I still have bladder control. For how long, who knows?………..
You might be able to hold your water, but beware the curse of the Brewer’s Droop.
This is just brilliant how bloody funny xx
I can assure you it wasn’t funny at the time. It took me about half a day before I could laugh about it. Now I’m pleased that everyone’s laughing along with me. It is ‘with me’ and not ‘at me’, right?
I’ll see your 10 cent piece wet spot and raise you gastric diarrhoea on the front steps of Rod Laver Arena on the first day of the Australian Open while filming a 10 minute timelapse shot as 50,000 people entered the venue. Admittedly I didn’t have to deliver any school bags, but I was vomiting into a pot plant.
I believe this hand is mine NDM! C’monnnnnnnnnn!
Hmmm…. let me see…. 50,000 tennis fans vs. a handful of attractive, well-dressed suburban mothers….
Yes, this hand is yours. But I certainly hope you washed it first.
Thanks great!! Thank you for the laugh:) Can’t wait to read more!
LOL post! If your hubby forbids hanky panky on the washing machine maybe school dad could do the limbo under your crotch?
Thank god there are 54 comments to this post. It gave me plenty of time whilst reading them to do my much need pelvic floor exercises. NDM, this is a post that should be printed up and handed out with the post-birth pack at hospitals.
I recently read that kegel exercises can make it all worse… apparently rock hard is not good for control. I’ll have to find the article, but they recommended squats as being a better way to build up strength. …
Anyway, I’m nine months pregnant with my second and had a fair few tena lady moments in the last three weeks, and I am always surprised at how small and unoticeable it is when I finally get to the batrhoom to check it out! It feels awful! I, however, let my husband know when it happens, and he gives me a look like “now why on earth would you tell me that?”
Listen, I live in fear of two quick sneezes in a row. One I can clench for but two quick ones, all bets are off.
At my six week post-birth of B2 check my GP referred to my lady muscles as ‘slack’ and said if I didnt get clenching toot sweet she’d refer me to a physio. On asking what treatment the physio would administer, she said weights. Yup, I now have the potential to have a weight lifting vagina. Since I cant get my fat arse to the gym, I dont see much hope for the weight lifting.
Hehehe, I giggled when I read this. Broken bladders, always good for a laugh.
Oh dear! Fortunately for me, the worst I’ve had so far re: bladder issues is that its hard for me to jump on trampolines now. I daresay that’s probably for the best…