As any mother with a child in sports knows there are many pitfalls to spending every week-end at a game. First there’s the time away from home. No laundry gets done, no groceries purchased and no extra sleep. You wake up early , organize snacks , chairs and sunscreen to prepare to spend the day out in the sun, rain or cold. If you live in Michigan you may start the season in the snow and end it sweltering under an umbrella. But the most common hurdle the sports mom must face is the inability to find a “real” bathroom.

In my younger days I have resorted to using a port-a-pottie only when in a beer garden and only after several drinks. Any good drinking girl knows that once you give in to the urge to pee, you can’t stop so most times I would just wait until we hit the waffle house or my home to give in to the urge. Those were the days when I had a firm stomach, boobs that were in the right position on my chest and a bladder that could rival the best of them.

Fast forward 20 years and two kids later and nothing is the same. Stomach is bigger , boobs are sagging and the thought of waiting until I get home to pee is enough to make me pee my pants on the spot. I was watching my sons game today and knew that with all the excitement this game was bringing I was just one home run or bad call away from a dribble, and not the basketball kind.
I ventured over to the port-a-pottie and a young girl was coming out. “Don’t go in there ” she said. “It’s like totally gross and I am waiting until I get home.” Well goody for you I thought that you have the bladder of a sixteen year old and have the option. As for me and my sagging bladder I am willing to take the risk. And a risk it was. Nothing like a week old port-a-pottie with no toilet paper. This is what it has come to I thought. No options, just plug your nose and go. With quivering thighs I tried to make as little contact as possible and the best of a bad situation. Lucky for me I carry a purse as big as my car and it happened to have kleenex and hand sanitizer in it to save me from further digest and humiliation.
Oh how I miss the days of walking thru the mall and not mentally taking note and stopping at every bathroom that is available. When my bladder was young and dependable and I could still suck my stomach in to gain at least one jean size. Apparently youth and bladder control are wasted on the young.