Kegel's Are For Pussies

WARNING: Female Subject Ahead. (Bye, Bye, male readers....unless you are really brave.) Just kidding, I know that some of you would be genuinely interested in what your wives and partners go through. Around here, no choice is given to Z.

No, I am not looking to increase my hits, even though my comments have been few in number lately. I just had this thought cross my mind as I made my 100th trip to the potty today. Yes, we officially call it the "potty" in this house. According to the contract, it cannot be called a "toilet" until Zane is at least 10.

When I became pregnant with z, I of course read every book and joined every website available that addressed buns in the oven and how to properly preheat, bake, and then remove them with the best mitts available. I learned of all the fun little tricks nature plays on women when they gestate, and then progressively, give birth. But the education was noticeably lacking when it came to AFTER BIRTH.

I'm not just referring to colic. Or spit up. Or sleepless nights and days. Or worry. Or well meaning, yet insulting, relatives and relative strangers. Or how long it really takes to lose baby weight without the benefit of Sarah Jessica and Madonna's personal trainer (they didn't gain any baby weight to begin with, anyway....I think they gave birth to a little bean, literally. The rest was airbrush).

HoNo, I am talking about not being able to go twenty minutes without the urge, real or imagined, to pee.

I am, and have always been, the person the commercial jingle, "Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now..." was written for. I was the little girl who accidented in her snowsuit/desk/photobooth at the mall. I have been fighting a losing battle to begin with.

Oh, I know all about Kegels. The well meaning moms at the preschool breakfast don't have to tell me. I am even aware that Kegel's are a good thing PG or no, just to please your man. And that is our common goal, yes?

But Kegel's make me nauseous, really they do. I suspect, as with most things gynecological, that they were made up by an evil male doctor in some equally evil era who, in an opium induced haze, got the great idea of women everywhere going through an unpleasant exercise with the end result being; not better continence, but harder labor with their next child. (Not to mention, increased you know what. Yes, you do.) Well you say, who could blame the good doctor? He meant well, after all, it is for the greater good!

But I know I cannot be the only woman who suffers, by the sweat of her brow, to prevent natural functions and if all else fails, to stop mid-stream. That uncomfortable look you see on the normally well composed lady on the street? Kegel's. The girl behind you in line at Starbuck's who looks like she just (oh but in a lady like way) passed gas? Kegel's. The frown on your wife or girlfriend's face as you buss goodnight? Kegel's. Your secretary suddenly takes a deep breath and stands up straight, as if the president has unexpectedly entered the room? Not company loyalty, my friend. Kegel's.

Now that you know me so very intimately, I must excuse myself. You wouldn't want to read this knowing I was standing in a puddle, now would you?