Bladder wars: A poem

I’ve never been known to have a superhero’s bladder. Normal vacations, even in my teen years, required us to pit stop at least every hundred miles for a bathroom break. It’s lucky we ever even made it to our destinations. I am not fond of that gotta-go feeling. When I feel like I have to go, I go.

Now I know that pregnancy is supposed to come with some uncharted bladder territory but for the first two trimesters, I really didn’t notice that much of a difference. Perhaps it’s because I already go about a thousand times a day? “I can handle this,” I thought. “What is everyone complaining about?”

Whoa Nelly! Hello! I have entered bladder warfare and I am completely unprepared for the ambush. If I thought I went a lot before, I was so wrong. I think I probably go in the night at least once every hour. And when we went home for Thanksgiving, the vibration nearly pushed me over the edge and caused me to stop at every gas station and rest area within a 600-mile radius. Even little Braxton is getting in on the action; his little tush likes to rest right on my bladder. Though I am glad he is taking a snooze, I prefer he find another pillow for his bum.

Everything got really bad the other day when I found myself in the middle of a project at work that I couldn’t quite get away from. By the time I could run to the bathroom, I was literally doing a little dance down the hall. I’m not gonna lie, by the time I reached the door, I think I was actually jogging. I pulled open the door so fast that I scared the living daylights out of a sweet girl on our floor. She’s probably still traumatized and when I sat down, I kid you not, I actually let out a sigh.

So in honor of my new friend, the pregnant bladder, I’ve wrote a poem to our most bothersome organ.

Oh! Pregnant bladder, how I loathe thee!
For you always make me have to pee.
Just when I think I’ve fallen to sleep,
You begin to swell and almost leak.

When little legs decide to hop on thee,
You get angry and choose to flee,
I wish you wouldn’t take it out on me.

Why, oh why, do I always have to go?
Usually at the worst of times or during my favorite show.
And the more I drink and drink,
The company of the bathroom you force me to seek.

You fervent, sturdy, organ of might,
The one that keeps me up all night,
Do you think we could make a deal somehow,
To avoid the everlasting betrayal?

So pregnant bladder this I say,
Go away and come back normal again to me someday.

Lots of Love,

Tracy