We all piled onto the trampoline on Sunday, the four kids and my sister and I. We played a few games, like “Crack The Egg” and “Who Can Double Bounce The Highest”.
Amidst howls of laughter, we played like a bunch of goofballs. Granted, my sister and I had shared a bottle of wine. I should know by now that this generally allows for mistakes in judgement.
Then. Well, then, you see, it happened. I felt it. The result of having a couple of fetuses hangin’ around on the top of my bladder for a combined amount of time of 18 months.
I jumped up, and said “Oh my God, I’m gonna pee my pants…” and in some sort of last-ditch effort to save my dignity, I clenched with all my might.
It was to no avail. I came down, landed on my rear end and there, in front of the children and my sister, I peed.
You guys… you guys…. I could NOT laugh hard enough. As I rolled to the side to stand up and get the hell off that evil contraption, the evidence of my bladder issues was blatantly puddled in the middle of the trampoline.
The kids screamed in horror.
I, clutching my stomach from laughing so hard, crawled off the trampoline while my sister literally had tears streaming down her cheeks from laughing too.
After I had *ahem* changed my pants, giggling all the while, planning out how I was to write this up for my blog, I realized two things.
First, I must do more kegels. Duh.
And second, it didn’t embarrass me one bit. Not at all. I guess that’s what happens when you have kids. You pee your pants and take it in stride.