I almost didn't make it to the bathroom in Lowe's on Saturday. I think it can go down in my all time hall of famer for close calls in the urinary tract/bladder control segment of my life. {Yes, I also have a section for the other...}

We were in Birmingham meeting Jamin's brother and his kiddies for some Easter celebrations, along with a bird house project they were providing {for free!} at the local Lowe's. One, nearly two hour car trip, compacted by my morning coke ritual along side the fact that baby no. 3 decided it would be fun to begin repeatedly form tackling mommy's bladder...were all a recipe for peepee humiliation disaster.

I already have issues in that area as it is. Major issues. Pushing out two puppies has never helped my situation, and if someone else recommends kegels I may have to form tackle them.

Me: I have a cold. Someone: Are you doing your kegels? Me: I have to clean the house Someone: You know, kegels will help with that. Good for you, people. You go with your kegels. Yay. I do them when I remember in between potty battles breaks with Aiden, and pulling Emerson down from various ridiculously high places around our house, along with laundry, dinner, projects, and everything else in between. I don't know why I can't remember. My life is so simple. I'm JUST a stay at home mom. ALL I ever do is blog. Maybe the next time I'm explaining to a screaming Aiden for the tenth time why he can't have the candy bar while Emerson darts around the corner with scissors in each hand and I necklace doubled around her throat, while headed to the nearest socket with a fork, I can remember to do those kegels. Yep. Pump those vaginal muscles while I scream at my rampant children. They're the best. After this baby is born, I'm requesting the doc keep my catheter in and I can carry it around hooked up to my diaper bag as my latest accessory. Maybe I'll even paint it with polka dots and disguise it as an easter egg, and various other seasonal accents via Hobby Lobby. And when people ask, I can tell them I forgot to do my kegels, the answer to all bladder control woes, and I am now being punished by the peepee gods. Digression.

Jamin had to drop me at the door after thirty minutes of doing the peepee dance in the front seat while Aiden (quite joyously) scolded me for "peepeeing in my diaper," loudly proclaiming I was "going to get a spanking" if I went. I immediately bolted for the back as soon as I was free. I had no clue where the bathroom was. I started into an awkward fat girl jog in flip flops when I spotted an employee chatting it up with someone, who stepped back when she saw the urgency on my face. "Sorry..." I muttered breathlessly "Where are your bathrooms?" The man directed me and then smiled in his response after my gracious thank-yous.

"Think positive thoughts!" he yelled after me. It was then that the final phase of peepee control hit my body. CLENCH the MUSCLES! STUPID useless MUSCLES! I told myself as I began to waddle. I knew it was bad. I could jog, and it would speed up the process with pain, or I could walk slowly, but draw the process {ever so dangerously} out. There was, of course, also always option number three, as I could totally revert back to kindergarten, curling into the squat-like fetal position in the back of the store in wait for someone to carry me. But that would take too long. As I rounded the corner I began to rationalize what I would do if I DID in fact, wet my pants.

"Hi. My name is Ashley. I'm 29 years of age and wet my pants." I kept whispering under my breath. Sweet. Enter brilliant plan. I was judging the color of the floor. It was dark cement. The color yellow would be virtually undectable, at LEAST until I was out of sight. If I don't make it, I'll scream out in labor pains and tell them my water broke, while I coax Jamin and Aiden from the store, then drive to my mother in laws house so I can strip down and do my laundry. No one would be any wiser minus my family and the poor soul who had to mop up my accident who noticed a strange pungent smell...still a bit embarrasing, but doeable.

Ten seconds later, all plans were now moot I was sighing in relief. Serious relief. I made it. Barely.

How close was I? The world may never know...Thank goodness.

Other than my near death experience, we had a wonderful Saturday with the Mills family. We had a day jam-packed with easter fun with egg hunts and the like. The kids had a blast with it all, making bird houses, and stealing the bunny cake Nana made when no one was looking.

...until Aiden woke with a fever this morning. 101...102...103...the fever kept rising and everything was canceled. Selfishly, I was mourning my hard work and preparations that suddenly went down the drain. No coordinated outfits for the fam...the rabbits I made were barely noticed, and the baskets hardly touched. Oh well. It happens. Easter is overrated anyway. Maybe I'll post our cute coordinating outfits NEXT week, and have an easter bunny reveal/redo two days from now when someone cares. Aiden simply laid on the couch, and Emerson was more interested in her pop tarts. I know you will all be waiting with baited breath for the coordinated outfit reveal...gotta keep up with the joneses of blogging, ya know.

Emmy's face says it all..."Basket? Give me some apple juice, NOW, freaks."

In the meantime, click here, here and here for my more meaningless projects I drive myself crazy with. It's what I do...