The Car, the Toddler, and the Time I Peed My Pants

Let me take you back.

It is 2020 in Maine, I am working full-time, my husband is working full-time, and our children attend the school where I work as a Montessori teacher.

The pandemic hits, and BOOM.

We are home together. ALL together, ALL the time with ALL the screens, and everything feels like it is going to burst.

I was teaching online, and I was making sure that my children were attending their online classes. I was attending online one-on-one's of my own students, and my husband was also working from home. It was the run-of-the-mill, everyday nightmare of 2020 that so many of us felt and experienced.

“It was immediately after this moment of divine appreciation for my life that my Spidey-Mom-Sense went off.”

Spring came, I could see the light at the end of the school year tunnel.

It was a warm day in April. I had somehow found myself in a moment of complete peace - my daughters were playing in the yard, giggling and chasing each other around while I weeded happily in our front garden. I remember very clearly at this moment thinking to myself - this is happiness. You are living the life you dreamed for yourself. Good work, Jenny!

It was immediately after this moment of divine appreciation for my life that my Spidey-Mom-Sense went off.

IT WAS TOO QUIET.

I couldn't hear any giggling, talking, or negotiating. I could only hear my oldest voice very faintly.

I sprung to my feet and started calling out, "What are you girls doing? Where are you?"

The oldest comes around the corner.

"Mommy, N is drawing. She is drawing on the car."

"WHAT???" I feel my heart drop into my stomach. This car, while used, was the newest and nicest car I had ever owned. We had had it for less than a year.

I grew up in a house where every car my parents could afford seemed to eventually need a repair that cost more than the car was worth. There were a lot of cars. So this car was special to me, for all the 'growing up kinda poor' reasons. I finally had something that felt reliable, consistent, and nice.

"What is she doing?" I said in disbelief.

I ran as fast I could towards that car, and there she was, standing with a rock in her hand drawing on the car.

"N, what are you doing??" I say as I remove the rock from her hand mid-stroke.

"I am painting on the car, Mama."

I SCREAMED for my husband, who came running out the door. I told him what happen. I could feel all the blood rushing to my face and my body shaking. I had never felt so angry at one of my children, ever. This hit a nerve, a deep, sensitive nerve, that, of course, she couldn't understand.

I had picked her up and handed her to her Dad, and immediately walked away.

She was crying. She knew I was angry.

I ran into the house, slammed the basement door behind me, and there in the basement, I began screaming. I screamed and screamed and screamed, and that's when it happened. I peed my pants.

Delivering two children will weaken your pelvic floor, maybe to the point where when you hide in your basement to shield your children from the rage you feel from one of the "painting" your new car, you might pee your pants.

It's was one of these angry/screaming/laughing/crying moments as I felt myself lose control of my bladder.

I begin laughing because I thought to myself, "Are you "F@cking Kidding ME? I can't even have my rage?" That made me want to scream more.

It was a breaking point that I think most mothers have felt before where we love our children dearly, but we also yearn deeply to reclaim ourselves again. To have our bodies back, not hot girl pre-baby-body back but back to having some control over it, some autonomy. Being the sole source of comfort and food is exhausting.

My husband came down to the basement to check on me and asked if I was okay. I turned to him and said, "I screamed so hard, I peed my pants."

The look on his face was only love and concern. He hugged me.

I rinsed off and changed my clothes. Then, noted I needed to do more Kegels and circled back to talking to my Little One.

We talked about why you don't 'paint' on cars with rocks and how that isn't okay, how we can paint on paper or cardboard.

This vignette of parenting during the pandemic is a pretty spot-on shot of motherhood, overall, I think.

From the viewer's perspective, you see this picturesque setting - a woman happily pulling weeds while her children play joyfully in the yard. As the scene unfolds, you know the understory, which reveals that this woman, like all humans, has her limits and weak bladder.

When I think back to this day now, I laugh, I laugh hard.

But, don't worry. I don't laugh so hard that I pee my pants.