First the pandemic, then the demise of skinny jeans. I thought we had hit rock bottom, but last week I sank to a new low. I embarrassed 4-year-old BB.
My intentions were pure: loving, caring parenting, but like many moms before me, all I was was an embarrassment. I knew this was my destiny. I just thought I had a few more years before the pedestal I was enjoying crumbled beneath me.
It started with a potty break. Or 50 of them. BB was going to the bathroom every 10 minutes. I called the doctor. They recommended going in. So we did. But not before we went to the bathroom one more time.
What was I thinking? Of course they wanted a urine sample from BB and of course, even though she felt like she had to go, she didn’t. We exited the bathroom empty handed and returned to the exam room to drink apple juice.
Five minutes later,
“I need the bathroom.”
“Let’s wait a little bit. Remember it feels like you have to go, but you just went and you didn’t.”
“I really need to go.”
I manage to get her to wait another five minutes. Then she becomes adamant. We give it another shot. It’s a single use bathroom, very large and private.
I don’t know who’s tried to get a urine sample from a 4 year-old, but contrary to Captain’s assumption, I was NOT relaxing nearby. I was on my hands and knees in front of the toilet, elbow deep in the bowl, trying to keep the sample cup pressed against her crotch because she’d squeeze out a drop here or there and I didn’t want to miss a molecule.
“I don’t have to go.”
“Can you try a little more? If not, we need to go back to the room and wait until you can.”
She agrees to keep trying, but is upset about the whole thing and not relaxed at all. I’m sure that isn’t helping.
After I gave birth to BB, I was torn from end to end. I sat on the toilet afraid to ever go again. And I’m talking about urine. They had me relax my jaw, wiggle my tongue and make a “lululululu’ sound. It worked! It’s very hard to keep your crotch clenched if your mouth is completely relaxed.
I offered this hard-earned advice to BB,
“Imitate me, lulululu.”
“What? Do it with me. LULULULULU.”
“MOM! SHHH!! They’ll hear you!”
My legs are burning from squatting in front of the toilet. I keep missing precious drops of pee because as soon as BB starts to go at all, she drops her head down to watch, which means I can’t see what I’m doing and pee trickles up my arm. I’m doing everything I can and all I’m succeeding at is embarrassing her.
After 15 minutes in the bathroom, we both regard the urine barely covering the bottom of the sample cup. BB asks,
“Is that enough?”
“I don’t know.”
We exit. I hold out our offering to the powers that be. I whimper,
“Is there any way that this is enough?”
I have never been so relieved in my life. And thank goodness BB is healthy. She just needs to stay hydrated. She’s never been one to drink enough and my reminders were useless.
Now all I have to say is,
“Make sure you drink, we don’t want to go to the doctor.”
She runs for her water bottle. Maybe out of fear of the urine sample or an embarrassing mom. Or both.