Since I stopped working out…. well, small hand weights while I watch TV… I think urination has become my sport. I was always good at it. When I worked in radio I had “who can piss faster contests” on air with guys I worked with. Including washing of hands, I always won. I know, don’t be jealous; some people are born with a talent, and I have a very fast bladder. Too bad it’s not a sport I can monetize. The frequent peeing thing is less stressful this time than it was the first pregnancy. Like so many of the pregnancy symptoms, I take it in stride knowing it will be done soon. And since this is my swan song to pregnancy, I really don’t want to complain but embrace it all. I also know the night pees are getting me in training for waking up with a newborn.

 

True story. When I was near delivering with Vivien, I was in Santa Monica (as Harry Shearer calls it “the home of the homeless”). I was parked on the 3rd or 4th floor of the parking structure up from the shops. The elevator was broken, so heaving my large frame, I made up to the car. Now, mind you it’s summer as well. Okay, so I am standing by my car, and I realize I have to piss like a moose. I can’t face going down and coming back up. And the merchants aren’t that open about sharing their baños anyway. I think hey, millions of homeless people can’t be wrong, right? So I go to the front of my car (the hidden part) and just peed.  There, I admit, and I will never make it in politics anyway.