SO.. one of the joys of late pregnancy is what Steph affectionately refers to as “bladder football”.  This is where your child will randomly spike your bladder as if he’s Lee Tiffin trying to make that one that hooks to the right for the winning point.  And you’ll have to pee.

But see, you really don’t have to pee.  There’s nothing in there to empty.  It’s just the surprise of a foot that freaks your bladder out.

So you’ll visit the public bathrooms AGAIN, for the thirty-ninth time that day, and you’ll listen to the women around you have a really good pee.  A substantial pee, if you will.  And you remember the days when YOU could pee, too.  Days when you can hold it for more than fifteen minutes, and when you did finally hover above that public seat, you would release the floodgates and go, “Ahhh.  THAT’S a good pee.”

But no more.  Now, it’s merely a tinkle, and you wonder if your stall neighbors are judging you.  You wonder if they’re listening and thinking, “She just wanted to hide out in the bathroom for a minute” and “She didn’t REALLY have to go” and “Maybe she should see a doctor”.  Instead, you use your now tyrannosaurus rex-length arms to try and wipe yourself, wondering what really would’ve happened if you’d not gone.  Is it really considered wetting yourself when there’s nothing there in the first place?

And you may judge me, for having all of these thoughts.  But when you visit the damn bathroom twice an hour at least, you have PUH-LENTY of time to think.