For the next two weeks, I have the rare chance to spend some real quality time with Asher. Since his summer camp is over and Abby’s goes straight until school begins, my boy’s all mine all alone until he starts preschool after Labor Day. Yesterday, I decided to take him to the local zoo, and then for lunch in the park.

Yes, it was shaping up to be a fine day. Until, that is, I decided to push it.

Bad Thing # 2: Peeing in My Pants

It was hot and we were both tired, but since we needed a baby gate for the bottom of the stairs, I shlepped Mr. No-Nap to Babies R Us on the way home. I should have known better. With brazen disregard for my delicate condition, I lifted a crabby 32-pound Asher in and out of the shopping cart thee times, pulled a giant gate down off the shelf, pushed it to the cash, lifted Asher into the car and finally hoisted the gate into the trunk.

And that’s when I gushed. Like, actually wet my pants.

I called Dan when I got home and he gave me lots of crap for being so stupid and then scared the sh*t out of me, insisting we call the hospital. Since I technically couldn’t be sure if it was pee or amniotic fluid, I agreed. (And as Dan so eloquently put it, "The baby is still only about medium-rare, so we’re not taking any chances.") The nurse told me to come in immediately.

In the end, it was just pee – yay! I’m officially incontinent at 32 weeks! – but I’ve been told to smarten up or else. That means no more lifting Asher, no more ditch-digging, no more free-climbing above the treeline without oxygen.

On a more positive note, there’s nothing like the sound of two hungry, wild kids running around the delivery ward and a nervous husband chasing them down, uttering empty threats, to make you appreciate the simple pleasures in life, like being given a glass of orange juice and hooked up to a fetal-monitoring machine for a hour of sheer relaxation.