Last year my family celebrated my dad's birthday in the cardiac intensive care unit. After spending a week on a ventilator and a heart pump, he woke up on his 56th birthday. It was quite a celebration.
This year, we decided to celebrate his birthday at the bowling alley because nothing celebrates being born and surviving 3 heart surgeries quite like wearing ugly rented shoes and drinking Bud Light. Yeah, in my family - that's how you do it.
So last Saturday, everyone went to the lanes - including Jack. Du-Du-Dun...
Because Jack, at 16 months old, isn't quite ready to bowl, I spent my time at the lanes following Jack around as he explored the alley. He found chex mix to eat off the floor, ash trays to pull off tables, chairs to push around, and a vending machine (which he got his chubby little hand caught in).
Jack was having a real good time. I was having a few beers. Eventually those beers caught up with me and I had to pee --- badly.
Not wanting to interrupt anyone's game, I took Jack with me to the bathroom. Now, this is usually where things go wrong (Exhibit A), but I thought I could lock him in the stall with and let him play with my beer bottle.
I hurried to the bathroom, locked the stall door, put the baby down and pulled down my pants to pee. Why had I held it so long? As I was about to go, Jack pushed the stall door open. Hadn't I locked it? I guess not, because Jack was sprinting out of the stall.
Because my son has a history of playing in toilets, I lunged for him with my pants around my ankles to save him from playing in pee. Turns out, I then peed all over myself. Ugh...
I grabbed the little guy by the back of his shirt, pulled him into the stall and securely locked the door while I then used toilet paper to try to dab the pee off of my pants.
Now, lucky for me, I was wearing corduroys so it didn't really show. Who knew aside from being a favorite fabric of preschoolers, corduroy was also good for concealing urine stains....Hmmm, those preschoolers might be on to something there.
I returned to the party and nobody noticed or at least nobody said anything or perhaps, pissing yourself at the bowling alley is perfectly acceptable.
Whatever the case may be, I suppose I brought this all on myself the day I made fun of this:
What's the weight limit on that thing? I'm done peeing on myself, and grabbing Jack out of the toilet. He's earned himself a bathroom time out - he'll now be dangling from the stall door so I can allow myself the same feeling of peace and calm that everyone has while using a public restroom.