The pee story

This flashback post is inspired by Robin's pee story. After you read mine (cuz its really funny, darn it) go read hers. You'll be glad you did.

So, I'm a clutz. I am always hurting myself doing something stupid. Right now? I have a scab on the knuckle of the pointer finger on my right hand. Why? Cuz I was trying to get two kids' teeth brushed and underestimated the height of the bathroom cabinet. And I punched it. D'oh!

I've always been a clutz, as are most of the women in my Dad's family. (If that points to some strange disease, please, tell me - cuz I'm a worrier. I'm of German descent and could be considered to be overly hairy, too.)

OK, where were we? Oh yeah. Clutzy. That's me.

So - in the winter of '06/'07 I was pregnant with Will and was going in for my monthly, then weekly doctor's visits. You know the routine - pee in a cup, wait to be called, weigh yourself, wait for the doc, he asks, "How are you feeling?" and you say, "Fine." Repeat.

On one particularly cold February day when I was nine months along, I grumbled to the nurse that they should make those prenatal visits "do-it-yourselfers". They could let you come in at your convenience, put cups out for the sample and a chart on the wall where you'd jot your weight and any symptoms.

She led me to the rest room and explained the procedure for collecting a sample as if I were new. I cracked a smile and said, "I think I got it down." She smiled sheepishly, realizing she hadn't needed to explain, and walked away.

The office of my OB is particularly nice in that they don't require you to carry your pee in a cup down the hallway. There is a little metal door in the wall of the rest room with a little metal door on the other side that opens up into the lab. Once you've collected your sample, you leave your cup in between the little doors.

Easy peasy.

For everyone but me.

On this particular day when I was feeling grumpy and had already proven myself to be a bit snarky with the nurse, I spilt my pee.

Just as I misjudged the bottom of the bathroom cabinet this week, I misjudged the little shelf behind the little metal door, and instead of setting my sample inside, I hit the bottom of the cup on the wall, spilling all but three drops e v e r y w h e r e.

Pee ran down the wall and made puddles inside the little metal door as well as on the floor. There was no longer enough pee to actually test for whatever it is they test for at that point.

There was nothing left to do but laugh.

Cuz my pants? Were still around my ankles. With my pee on them. (I realize the pants may sound like they caused the spillage, but trust me, I barely had to stand up off the pisser to open the little metal door.)

I laughed my fat happy butt off as I re-dressed myself and did my best to wipe up my pee. I realized its was a lost cause and started laughing even harder, cuz its just like me to be such a freakin' spaz that I can't handle my own pee.

I was laughing so hard my sides hurt when the nurse knocked at the door.

"Ma'am, are you OK?"

But of course...