It’s official. I pee a lot.
Granted, for anyone that’s ever taken a road trip with me, that’s probably not a very shocking statement. Also? Anyone who’s ever taken a road trip with me and is now giggling can fuck right off.
Yesterday I attempted my first ever at home, 24 hour, pee collection test. And I failed. Miserably.
First? I spilled. A lot. It takes more concentration and dexterity than one might imagine to successfully pour urine from a bowl into a narrow opening while trying to turn your face away from the overwhelming stench of prenatal vitamins and asparagus.
Second? I contaminated my collection – once with drool and twice with toilet paper. Also there may have been an incident with Mildred “helping” but I’m pretty sure she was more contaminated than the sample at that point. Also? Ew.
Both of those issues are fairly inconsequential, right? I mean, I’m sure they can still test around those minor infractions against proper pee collecting etiquette. After all, they have MODERN SCIENCE on their side.
But at 3 am this morning, after Lucy and Mildred commenced a battle of epic proportions on my abdomen and Rocco’s attempt to knock them off ended with an accidental nudge of my bladder…well, I could hold it no more. And that’s when I discovered there was no more room in my pee jug.
Well, I managed to pour about half of that sample into the bucket before it started overflowing all over the floor of the tub.
Then I stood there, with my pee hat still half full of pee, at a total loss for what to do next.
So I went to the kitchen. Like any other sleep deprived, incoherent girl would do at 3am with 300 cc’s of pee in her hands.
Now 300 cc’s isn’t a TON of pee or anything. It’s probably about a cup, I’d guess. But I knew I’d have to pee again. Probably at least another 2 – 3 cups worth before 8am. So I needed something that could hold at least 4 cups. Of pee. That I would probably never get back.
Mason jars? Too small.
A thermos? Ew.
Mixing bowls? No lids.
Ziploc baggies? It’s all fun and games until a cat walks on one of those bad boys.
Tell me Interwebz, what would you sacrifice in your kitchen for warm pee collection?
Turns out, it didn’t matter what I chose. They have rules about things being “sterile.” And unfortunately a couple of sour cream tubs I pulled out of the recycling bin and rinsed off do not qualify as “sterile.”
So I “get” to do it again.
They’re sending me a form in the mail that will entitle me to go somewhere to pick up two new clean, sterile jugs to fill with my steamy, odoriferous pee while on house arrest for 24 hours.
Just in case I didn’t say this twenty times already, pregnancy blows. Almost as much as road trips with me, apparently.
So next week I’m going to have TWO jugs of pee in my fridge. HooRAY! Now I just have to figure out what to do with this:
Who’s up for another citrus orange, not quite two-feet-long giveaway?!?