While my vagina has definitely paid the price three times over, my bladder has emerged from the post partum wreckage remarkably unscathed.
So when I nearly peed myself during a long set of squat jumps at kickboxing class, and subsequently found myself having to use the bathroom every two hours, the only explanation I could come up with was that I was pregnant.
And wouldn't you know, that's what the damn test said that I took Christmas morning.
[Damn new fangled things].
After screaming what must have sounded like the father fixing the furnace in "A Christmas Story," I took a picture and emailed my husband.
Subject: Um, Merry Christmas...
Message: I made an appointment for a vasectomy upon your return.
Okay, so I didn't say it that politely. I'm sure you can figure out my choice of words for that one.
Then I texted him to tell him to check his email. And then I called him to tell him to read the text that told him to check his email.
"What's that?" he asked me.
"A PREGNANCY TEST" I exclaimed. How can you not tell what that is, why, with my fine iPhone photography skills?
"Well, what does it say?" he asked. "I can't read it."
"DO YOU REALLY THINK I WOULD SEND YOU A PICTURE OF A NEGATIVE PREGNANCY TEST?"
"You didn't post this, did you?" he asked.
[Ah, the poor husband of a blogger].
We both sat on the phone, scratching our heads trying to figure out how in the hell this had happened.
But even though it was highly improbable that I was pregnant, the little $8 test said I was, so therefore it must be true.
At least that's what I told myself as I finished off the dark chocolate caramels chased with three peanut butter and jelly topped bagels.
The baby is hungry. How can I deprive my baby of chocolates?
The only problem was that other than having to pee, I had absolutely no other pregnancy symptoms. And I had just had a period.
So I can't say I was too surprised that after taking a few tests the next day that might as well have screamed "NO WAY IN HELL" at me, I learned that pregnancy tests should not be kept in subzero temperatures, like in your car's glove box in case of an emergency side of the road pregnancy scare.
[I realize that you will now obsess about the fact that I had a pregnancy test in my car. I cannot give you a reasonable explanation for why there was a pregnancy test in my car other than the fact that I am lazy and sometimes just hide things in my car rather than bring them inside].
So, no folks. I'm not pregnant.
I just need to wear pads.
And kegel like I've never kegeled before.