an open letter to incontinence

Hello, Incontinence.

Would you care to sit down? I'd offer you a drink, but I know they go right through you...

I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude. It's just you've overstayed your welcome. It's been a long 7 years, 9 months, 2 weeks and 2 days. I believe I went on one business trip in 2004 that kept me away from home more than 24 hours. Otherwise, literally not one day has passed that I haven't cleaned up someone else's bodily waste, in nearly 8 years. I'm ready for a break from you, Incontinence. I think we need to see other people. And by that I mean that you need to see other people, and I need to not see shit smeared all over the side of the toilet and on the floor.

No offense. Your ways are not my ways, Incontinence; I know this.

I realize my children still lack the fine motor coordination to wipe thoroughly, without smearing poo everywhere. Unfortunately, they also lack the attention to detail that would enable them to clean their poo from the toilet bowl, seat, floor, etc. Not a problem. I don't mind tracking down the mess-maker and forcing him or her to scrub bathroom surfaces with Clorox wipes. But your laundry hamper trick today?

I gotta admit, that one nearly broke me.

I realize you probably resent me casting you off so abruptly, after all the times we've had together. Still, that's not cool. Shouldn't it have been enough for you to make that one child start wetting the bed again? And what about when Haney pooped her pants at soccer practice, and I hadn't brought anything with us, so I had to wrap her poop ball in a crumpled Kleenex and stuff it in the passenger door pocket with her undies? I think you made your point, didn't you?

But no. You had to make that other child lose bowel control and hide it from me for several days by burying soiled undergarments in the bottom of the hamper. Then I did the laundry this afternoon. Thanks for that.

Fine. I accept it. Welcome back, Incontinence, although you never actually left. You just slunk into the closet like a little bitch, passive-aggressively biding your time. I'll accept that I may well have five more years of this ahead of me. I'll run water over the dried out pack of wipes in the glove box, and I'll go back to my old habit of keeping an entire change of clothes for each family member in the minivan. I'll schedule those specialist visits I put off years ago, and I'll clip coupons for any and all Lysol products. I get it, Incontinence. You win.


Diagnosis: Urine