As a child, I pissed myself a lot. Many of my childhood memories are stained with the shameful urine that I involuntarily passed. I had critical FOMO, before the very definition of the word had been coined. Terrified of the possibility that I would miss the craic, I would never excuse myself from a fun game simply because my bladder demanded it. You’d think after one incident that I’d learn from my embarrassment, yet I continued to piss myself. Whilst I suffered at the time, I’ve to thank my past self for providing me with numerous entertaining stories which I shall share here.
One of the earliest cases, which I can’t even remember myself, occurred while my older cousin was babysitting my twin, cousin and I. We were crawling through her legs one after another because that’s the type of boring shit that children find amusing. After I had crawled through, my cousin followed. Her hands and knees glided along the floor. “Why’s it so slippy?”, she enquired. My guilt-ridden face revealed the answer to her question. I had so kindly lubricated the floor for my horrified cousin.
Another time, I was scooting around the same cousin’s driveway when she recognised my bursting-for-a-wee facial expression. She pleaded with me to go inside and wee but I insisted that I did not need to go to the toilet. I continued to scoot about but soon a trail followed my scooter exposing my lies.
Surely I was a tad embarrassed about those little accidents but at least knowledge of the events was mostly confined to blood relatives. In first class, I wasn’t so lucky. We had been assigned book buddies, older students that helped us read for an hour every week or so. I forget the name of my book buddy but I remember that he was a handsome tanned 5th classer and I fancied the arse off him. One reading session, I brought an easy reader about the Titanic as an attempt to impress my mature book buddy with my interest in history. I think I was getting to the part where the water surges into the ship when I began to rock slightly in my chair but I insisted to my book buddy that I did not need to go to the toilet. I was NOT going to waste any moment of my precious weekly hour with him. Unfortunately, my gentle rocking became vigorous bouncing until I relaxed my urethral sphincters and a disaster on par with the Titanic itself followed.
Strangely enough, I was more concerned with making it to the toilet in my sleep than I was when I was awake. I’d often wake up on the toilet with no recollection of how I had gotten there. Soon my family observed me in my subconscious pursuit of the toilet and realised that I was a sleepwalker. The only purpose of my sleepwalking appeared to be this pursuit. Alas I did not always make it to my destination. One morning, the contents of the laundry basket (which was located close to the toilet) were found to be soaked in what was presumed to be my wee. Another time, my older sister witnessed me pulling down my pyjama trousers, ready to relieve myself on the stairs BUT thankfully she led me to the bathroom in time. According to sleepfoundation.org, “inappropriate behaviour such as urinating in closets” is actually a common symptom of sleepwalking. It also lists screaming and violence as other symptoms which reassures me that I could’ve been a worse child to live with, at least pissing everywhere is rarely associated with demon children.
I’m happy to say that my wetting myself days are over. I feel like I should have some reflection on overcoming my habit but honestly I can’t think of any life lessons that resulted from my experiences. Don’t let FOMO go too far? Only read non-water based stories in front of cute lads? Take pride in the fact that you were never a creepy screaming sleepwalker? I don’t know but I just hope you enjoyed these anecdotes.