Don’t Blame the Baby

I was having lunch with my girlfriends, most of whom are mothers. Someone ventured down a urinary tract of conversation (insert comedy drum sound here).

“Obviously, I wouldn’t trade my kids for anything, but…” This is, of course, the phrase that launched a million bitches. All totally valid, I’m sure. Children are tyrants. But she went on to say that she was walking uphill when someone or something made her laugh and she “like… peed. Just a little! But, yeah.”

The other mothers in the group shared their own similar stories. In addition to funny hills, there are other situations that my friends admitted to avoiding. Squats, lunges, anything that involves a kettlebell, and sneezing. “I just wear sweatpants all the time,” one Mom shared. “They dry faster.”

I could have sat there, quietly and smug. Implying with my silence that my childless state has left my bladder intact: an impenetrable platinum fortress of pee. But that would be a lie.

“Last week, I was filling up my bird feeder. I went to lift it back onto the hanger and I couldn’t quite get it on the hook way above my head. Then, I suddenly realized that I had to go, and I wasn’t going to make it.”

My friends all laughed, and someone asked if I dropped trou and watered my lawn. I didn’t. I actually did make it back inside. (My snow shoveling session last weekend which has brought this conversation to mind did not end as successfully, damn you snow pants!)

“My point is, maybe having kids made it worse, but I think it’s also just age.” My one other childless friend at the table concurred, but declined to share details.

I’m only 41, for God’s sake. I’m not ready for depends! These are the moments that I remind myself that if I were living in cave times I’d be dead. Or used as bait on big hunts, at the end of my usefulness. Instead I’m lamenting the sunset of my fruitless fertile years and hoping I saved enough for retirement. That’s progress, right?

About Rachel Lewis

I am a writer, ceramic artist, knitter, and new stepparent. As a playwright, I had six short plays produced in showcases and festivals in Manhattan, Salt Lake City, and Austin. My full-length play, Locking Doors, was presented by Wordsmith Theatre Company in The New Lab Theatre (University of Utah) in 2005. I co-wrote a teleplay titled “Thank God I’m Atheist” which won the 2015 “No God But Funny” contest founded by the Center for Inquiry. My short nonfiction essay, “It’s Coming Down,” was published by the online literary magazine Halfway Down the Stairs. I currently work in pharmaceuticals professionally and write recreationally, but dream of making the transition to write professionally and do pharmaceuticals recreationally. I am a Utah native and live in Salt Lake City with my Yorkshire terrier, Wensleydale Doggiepants. I am working on a collection of humorous non-fiction essays and a second full-length play. Follow me at: rachelclewis.com @rachel_lewis_ut (Twitter) @rachel_lewis_ut (Instagram)

One response to “Don’t Blame the Baby

  1. This was hilarious. I know my early 40s have been a wild ride so far, but I haven’t hit this particular milestone yet! I did manage to successfully remove the ever-thickening peach fuzz from my jawline the other day, so that made me feel pretty accomplished!

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