Rebellious Thoughts of a Woman

Alone

What comforts do you seek when you are alone?

* * *

I sneezed earlier and my very thin everyday pad got drenched. If I laugh before I squeeze my legs together, then I dampen my Victoria’s Secret special. And, heaven forbid, I raise my voice (okay, yell), and I am at home (which is where the raising of voice generally occurs), and I am in my pjs (with which I do not generally partake, if you get my drift), then the trickle travels undaunted down my legs. Oh, the angst.

I cannot blame my daughters for a lost figure since I was in the best shape ever after daughter number one (we were living in a fourth-floor walk-up and I would go up and down those stairs countless times a day lifting weights, i.e., daughter and groceries), and with neither of my daughters was I lulled into thinking that I could eat for two and not pay the price, so I barely gained any weight except the babies and their apparatus, which was gone gone gone soon after birth. But, I can lay the blame of my need for a midlife diaper squarely on their lovely shoulders. It’s all their fault that the hydraulic system that was in place prior to their arrival down the canal has become faulty. What is this? I don’t remember reading about post-pregnancy peeing in What to Expect When Expecting.

Stopping to sneeze, laugh and/or yell are just not options (although, thankfully, giving up jumping jacks has not proven to be a problem). I’m not talking about changing my lifestyle here--I’m talking about the occasional light involuntary urination. Wearing a regular pad could, I guess, solve the problem. But, as usual, I think that the product developers must be men because those things are so uncomfortable. There’s always something going up somewhere, and I have still not mastered the science of proper pad placement even with those “wings” (what a ridiculous term for adhesive strips). Not to mention the fact (and I do mean fact) they feel like cardboard between my legs.

Which brings me to diapers. Maybe I need a diaper? But I’m thinking that that’s overkill, it’s only a little bit and only sometimes; I’m not exactly soiling myself. I’m spotting urine, if you will. What’s a woman to do? I’m thinking that maybe there could be a pocket in undies where you could elect to tuck in a specially-fitted pad. Victoria’s Secret take note: this may be even bigger than the thong (and not just literally!). I hope so, or else it may mean that I am alone in this and I would hate to think that.

* * *