Today I have a guest post from my internet bestie and partner in crime, Motherhood: A Descent Into Madness. Enjoy.
Because when you're seven months pregnant and have a one- and three-year-old, it's always a good idea to go on an eight-hour road trip, we headed to San Diego to visit some family.
Connor was still in diapers, I wished I was in diapers (third trimester of pregnancy, hello), and Ethan was in Mickey Mouse undies. We got about two hours away from home when Ethan announced that he had to pee. Husband groaned, but I was like, oh hell yes because I had to go, too.
Except, we were in completely flat, barren desert land, not a rest stop, gas station, store or even a tree for 100 miles, so finding a place where he could pee without his wang being on display to all the people driving by was proving to be a bit of a challenge.
A while later, husband found an exit that led away from the road a bit, so we figured we could angle our Yukon to shield our son from the passers-by, and them from him.
It was summer. It was hot and dusty and we were in the desert. Ethan got out and was immediately attacked by a giant swarm of flies as he was trying to pee right next to the car. And we had to leave the car door open to shield him from the road a bit, so the flies began flooding the inside of the car, too.
And I was fucked. No toilet for me... Or was there? I remembered that we had Ethan's training potty in the back of the Yukon, and I thought, fuck it. It was that, one of Connor's diapers, or pissing myself. ALL GREAT OPTIONS.
The back of the Yukon was jam packed with our bags, porta crib and other kid crap. I threw only a couple of things out, severely misjudging how much room I was going to need, hefted my ass up into the back of the truck and tried to sit on that tiny potty.
Imagine a circus elephant sitting on a tiny stool? That was me. You'd maybe never guess, but the thing is, it's not that easy to fit a grown ass on those tiny little seats, in the back of a fully-packed SUV, with flies swarming all over you. I feared that a fly would land on my cooter, and it would be the End of Days. My right elbow was banging against the side window and my feet and knees were hitting the back hatch door that I had to shut to keep from being seen. The lid to the potty was jamming into my butt and back and I was scared I was going to break it right off of its cheap plastic hinges. It was 112 degrees in the car and sweat was making me slip and lose my grip when I was trying to balance myself- because I didn't want to put all my weight on the flimsy thing and have it buckle and break and sodomize me with broken plastic shards.
I should have gone with the diaper option.
As I was being attacked by flies, trying to fit my belly between my legs that were wrapped around my ears, trying not to piss all over the back of our car, knowing that our kid was pissing all over his shoes and probably his pant legs, too, the flies reached Connor.
Connor hates flying things like bugs and flies; they freak him the hell out. So a swarm of flies started buzzing around him while he's strapped into his car seat, unable to escape. Literally a person's worst nightmare, if you think about it. Not the flies themselves but being restrained and unable to escape something you're terrified of.
I finished up to the symphony of destruction Connor's terrified screams, the buzzing of a hundred flies, and the sound of my urine coming perilously close to the top of the little cup in the potty, and flailed about trying to escape the dungeon of hell without spilling the pee.
Freed, I tossed the pee out onto the desert ground (you're welcome, thirsty critters) and tried to swat away the flies that were terrorizing my son. Tried, but did not succeed.
We got Ethan back into his seat, got back on the highway and spent the next 45 minutes listening to Connor scream his face off while the flies buzzed around his head and our eardrums exploded from his screams and the wind blasting into our open windows at 80 miles an hour in our attempt to rid the flies from the car.
Eventually, they all blew out. It was totally worth it. Because when you're hugely pregnant and you have to pee, fuck everything else.
If you share this post, I will buy you a pony.
I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.