Description:
From the author of the award-winning blog Snarky Mommy comes a book that will make every woman who has ever been pregnant pee with laughter (not that that's hard).
Wearing her highest heels and hottest pregnancy jeans, Amy Sprenger marched into her doctor's office, latte in hand, ready to finally see whether her baby was a boy or a girl. Sure, sure, this appointment was supposed to be about checking the health of the baby, but everyone who's ever been there knows it's really about looking for what lays, or doesn't lay, between the legs.
So when the doctor tells her she has an incompetent cervix, Amy does what any woman would do. She becomes immediately offended. Is that a politically correct way of saying her cervix sucks? Unfortunately, as she's soon to learn, it's a lot more than that. The only way to keep that baby from falling out on the sidewalk (probably in front of Starbucks) is for her doctor to stitch her cervix closed and for Amy to stay in bed for the next four months.
Four months that are carefully detailed in this "memoir." A memoir that, while basically true, has been embellished with Amy's signature brand of humor and hilarity.
With more time off than a castoff contestant on "The Bachelor," Amy took pen to paper and settled in for the ride. But instead of sitting around eating bonbons, she's popping hypertension drugs to stave off preterm labor. And complications? Oh, she's got your complications. She's gut-rehabbing her house. Her mother moves in to care for her. Her husband takes a "mancation" while she's stuck in the hospital. And every time she has a contraction, she's convinced it's The Big One.
Living by the adage that laughter is the best medicine, Amy fumbles her way through a series of sometimes serious and usually embarrassing situations. And just to be clear, using a bedpan qualifies as both serious and embarrassing.
EXCERPT
(The set up for this is the main character, Annie, has been hospitalized with pregnancy complications and the nurse wants her to use a bedpan. Annie most definitely does NOT want to use a bedpan, her husband, Jake, is not being at all helpful, and hilarity ensues.)
The nurse comes back an hour later and stares pointedly at my untouched water. I stare pointedly at the bedpan. It’s a pee standoff at the O.K. Corral. She adjusts the belts holding the monitors in place and hands me the glass. I take the tiniest sip I can possibly take and slam it down with a fake smile. She sighs and leaves.
“Don’t forget to call Dr. Thornton!” I yell as she walks down the hall.
Another hour goes by, and by this time, Jake has arrived and he finds the whole thing to be highly amusing. He keeps trying to get me to pee.
“You know what I could go for right now?” he asks. “A swim in a cool mountain stream. You know what I’m thinking about right now? A crashing Hawaiian waterfall. And a lazy brook, bubbling along in the woods. All that cool, clear water. Would you mind if I let the water drip in the bathroom? I just love the sound of moving water.”
“Can you kindly shut the hell up about water?” I snap. “I don’t know why you would even want me to have to pee. Because you would have to help me. And that wouldn’t be so funny anymore, would it? Just stop talking.”
“But we haven’t even talked about the Trevi Fountain, Hoover Dam or Old Faithful. There are so many topics that I feel are really important to cover right now.”
“Cut it out! I have been holding it for the last three hours and I really have to go.”
“Then by all means, let me get you the bedpan.”
“I can’t. I’m scared.
“There’s nothing to be scared of. Except getting it all over yourself. And smelling like pee for the next three months because you’re not allowed to shower. Oh, and me telling everyone we know that you’re incontinent.”
At this point, I am jiggling my foot and trying to cross my legs because I have to go so bad. The pain in my bladder is unbearable. It would be way worse to pee myself seeing as there’s a bedpan an arm’s length away from me, so I admit defeat.
“Just give me the damn thing and get out,” I snarl at Jake.
“Your wish is my command. Now, where’s my camera? I need to get a picture of this,” he says, with too much enthusiasm. I grab the pink bowl from him and point to the door. I line the bowl up under my butt and somehow contort myself so my nether regions are somewhat inside the bowl and I wait. And I wait. And I wait some more. Of course, I couldn’t hold it before and now I have stage fright. My bladder is all “Give it up! Give it up!” and my brain is all “Does not compute, body not in the sitting-on-toilet position!” After a full minute of lying there thinking about peeing, I feel a first trickle, which quickly turns to a gush. I’m uneasy about the capacity of this thing, but figure it will serve the nurse right if she has to clean up a pee-soaked bed.
As soon as I finish, I feel immensely better. I buzz the nurse’s station and they ask what they can do for me.
“I peed in the damn bucket,” I reply. “Can you send someone in to dispose of the evidence?” A woman’s voice says my nurse is helping another patient right now, but she’ll be right in. Jake knocks on the door and asks, “Everything coming out okay in there?”
“Shut up and come in,” I respond. “The deed is done. I am completely shamed and will never again make fun of Depends commercials because I’m pretty sure an adult diaper would be preferable to this. Get this thing out from under me, would ya? I can’t move it without spilling it.”
“Are you kidding me? That’s a biohazard. I’m not coming anywhere near you. You can wait for the nurse.”
On cue, she strides in and smiles at me.
“I’m glad to see you’re more comfortable now,” she says, motioning for me to raise my hips and sliding the bucket o’ pee out from under me with practiced ease. “Oh, and your doctor called. You were right, you didn’t need to use the bedpan. You have full bathroom privileges. Sorry for the confusion.”
Perfect timing, bitch. I swear she almost laughed as she said it. If there’s a Yelp category for nurses, this woman is about to get smacked down with negative reviews. I am planning to ruin her nursing career and have no qualms about it. Although, if there’s any karma in this world, her next patient will be someone with a horrific case of diarrhea that she needs to collect for testing.
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Amy Sprenger is the author of the award-winning blog, SnarkyMommy.com, where she tells it like it is and isn't afraid to make fun of herself or her questionable parenting prowess. She has three kids under 8 and a penchant for getting herself into ridiculous situations. A former news and sports reporter, Amy lives with her husband and children in Chicago's Lincoln Park neighborhood where she silently judges all the other parents.
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