I’m sitting in the waiting room for my annual physical, and I had originally planned to post something uplifting about self-care. You know, the kind of post that reminds everyone that taking care of yourself isn’t just bubble baths and naps. It’s about being proactive with your health—keeping up with exercise, screenings, pap smears, mammograms, and all the things that keep your body and mind well.
But, in true “life happens” fashion, I have a different story to share with you today. Let it serve as a reminder to schedule your physical—you might at least get a funny story out of it.
I usually shower at night because mornings with the kids are chaotic, but last night I skipped it. I felt like I needed to be freshly clean for my exam this morning. Seems fair, right? Big mistake. I should’ve just taken the dang shower the night before and been done with it.
So this morning, I tried to make it work. I gave the boys a magnet set and turned on an audiobook to keep them occupied while I attempted the “full-on, get-ready-for-your-pap” shower—because, yes, ladies, you know what I’m talking about. You can’t just rinse off when you’ve got a pap smear coming up. You have to do the whole nine yards: hair, face, every nook and cranny.
Now, remember, I live tiny, and my hot water supply is limited—just enough for a Cinderella-style transformation. But instead of emerging looking polished, I ended up more Mrs. Hannigan from Annie.
Water on, hair soapy, face scrubbed, everything in order—and then I hear, “Mommy! I have to pee pee!”
I had taken him just before I got in, but toddlers have little regard for timing. He couldn’t open the door himself, of course, so I called for a “big kid” to help. Naturally, they didn’t hear me over the audiobook.
So, there I was: naked, hair piled high with soap, face full of biodegradable soap, fumbling with the door handle. I let him in, slipped on the wet floor, and wrapped around our tiny toilet like a poorly executed yoga pose. Eyes still closed because of the soap. Not exactly the graceful Cinderella moment I had envisioned.
Then he screamed again: “Mommy! I have to pee pee now!” And he did. Partially in the potty, partially down my leg. I know this not because I looked, but because, well… I felt it. Whatever, I thought. Back in the shower I go. By this point, my standards are extremely low.
I rinsed off… just as the hot water ran out. I’d spent my precious warm water dealing with pee on the floor instead of on me. I finished my shower in cold water, skipping the leg shave—sorry, doctor, if that complicates things later. And, just to add a little chaos to the mix, during this ten-minute ordeal, two cats jumped in, there was a lizard incident, and two kids asked for snacks. I wasn’t luxuriating, that’s for sure.
And now, here I am, sitting in the “old lady” section of the waiting room. Surrounded by pamphlets on vaginal dryness, pelvic floor exercises, and other joys of life post-baby. Across the hall, the maternity wing is full of twenty-something ladies waddling around, glowing and fertile. And honestly? I’m happy to be here with the sandy-vag pamphlets. I don’t miss that life one bit.
The moral of the story? Ladies, absolutely get your physicals. But, please, for your own sanity… shower the night before.
