Everyday is a new adventure. The latest involves the bathroom - or at least trying to use it. My theory? I had the runs for so long (and I do mean runs - every five minutes I'd take off sprinting to the bathroom, obstacles - including husbands and cats - be damned), that my body became used to it.

Now that things have a more natural flow, my body has decided "nope. not gonna happen. not this way. I had it easy for months, and that's the way I like it". So now there a tear in there.

A tear? Yes, a tear. And when I use the bathroom I swear I see God every morning from the pain. The fact my husband hasn't found me passed out on the floor, towels stuffed in my mouth to stop screaming, is a darn near miracle. I don't know what giving birth is like, but really girls, I MUST have one up on all of you.

Which also leads to me wonder about personal relationships. The exit items are not particularly challenging here. And while this has been a primarily exit only..uh...exit, save for the professional medical exam (which, btw, is one of the more humbling procedures to request, "Yes, doctor, can you please look up my...."), I now could never imagine giving anything else a try.

And for those of you individuals that prefer NOT to discuss this problem so publicly, the solution is diarretics and baths. All the medical science in the world, and I'm on Senekot and bath salts.

Sabrina