Urine Big Trouble

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.”

Fuckers.

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:

It's as heavy as the milk jug.

Who’s up for another citrus orange, not quite two-feet-long giveaway?!?


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30 thoughts on “Urine Big Trouble

      1. NO, you’d be half asleep and your eyes would be half shut and you’d grab for a carton and reach that and well. That’s where it all goes horribly wrong. I would totally do that. If it’s in a can or carton and in my fridge I’d ASSUME it was drinkable!

  1. Why give it away? I’m sure you could sell it on Craig’s List to a pee jug collector.

    (googling)

    Phew. There does not appear to be a website devoted to collectors of pee jugs.

    Yet…

      1. I’m a little pee jug, short & stout!

        Here is my handle, here is my spout!

        When Elly gets excited then I shout!

        Tip me over & pour me out!

  2. I am SO confused. More so than usual. What the hell is a pee hat? And what in Morgan Freeman’s name was making you DROOL while collecting urine?

    That’s how you ended up in the mess in the first place, isn’t it?

    What?

  3. Even if I could bring myself to somehow “get” the desire to create a screaming shitting, sleep deprivator (some people call them ‘children’), I think this?

    This.

    Would make me rethink the whole thing.

    I feel for you, kiddo.

    (At least at the hospital, they collect my pee like straight away – no need for possible contamination with champagne/strawbery concoctions intended for Spaniard/Russian use.)

    Just saying.

    – B x

  4. Dude you got the dud jar. Over here I was given a clear four litre sterile orange juice bottle. It seemed so big at first. No way I cold fill that bad boy in 24hrs. But apparently I could. There is no dignity to pregnancy or post pregnancy life as I have found out. Mmmm, warm pee bottle, nothing better. Piquant with a hint of gag. Well actually having your husband lug your gigantic jug of pee to the collection place on the front seat of the car that’s better. That my friend, is love.

  5. DO NOT get rid of that pee. Save it. Because if the clinical hoarder psychologists/specialists ever de-hoard your house, finding that would item would be a total show stopper.
    (I continue to just say the first thing that comes into my mind.)

  6. A little silver bell just went off in my head and caused a pavlovian response which resulted in me urinating in an old tupperwear jar.
    I used to have a terrible fear of pee contaminating the outside of the recepticle so I would wipe at it furiously with my wads of paper towels like a deranged Lady Macbeth.

  7. The whole pee next to the milk thing really made me laugh.
    Also? In Grade 11 Chem I did a project called “Urine Deep Doo Doo” – about piss and shit.

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