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Moms Pee Their Pants, Too
Postpartum urinary incontinence is common, embarrassing, and we don’t talk about it enough
It’s been two years since I gave birth to my daughter. Hers was a rough, vaginal birth via forceps delivery. Doctors wrapped metal salad tongs around my daughter’s skull to yank her too-big head through my too-small vagina. A rough pregnancy and rough childbirth in my late 30s led to postpartum urinary incontinence — meaning I can’t hold my pee.
It’s estimated that one-third of women struggle with incontinence after childbirth, so it’s a common problem. If you’ve had a baby, are thinking about having a baby, or have someone in your life with a baby, it’s an important fact to acknowledge. Because we associate the inability to hold one’s bladder with the immaturity of childhood or the infirmity of old age, it can be embarrassing to talk about.
In my case, it’s more than me having a problem with “lizzing” — which 30 Rock fans know is a combination of laughing and whizzing. Yes, I pee a little when I laugh or cough or jump. I dribble and leak sporadically. My perfumed pantyliner always holds some amount of urine no matter how many times I change it, so my poor vagina smells like a urinal cake, I imagine. I’m afraid of leaving my house for more than an hour because I’m worried I’ll have an accident in public. It also hurts to insert anything vaginally, so even wearing a tampon is uncomfortable.
Unfortunately, incontinence is often overlooked as a normal consequence of childbirth. I assumed it was normal, too. I knew having a baby would take its toll on my body and believed that basic control of my bladder was just another thing I would be giving up — like perky breasts, a flat stomach, and stretchmark-free skin.
At first, I relied on Dr. Google’s advice to deal with my incontinence. I half-heartedly performed Kegel exercises before bed for a few months. I saw no improvement and figured I was doomed to bladder control undies for the rest of my life. I simply amended my vision of taking a post-pandemic family trip to public-toilet-scarce Italy to include adult diapers. It’s only after coaxing by my attentive primary care provider and my persistent husband that I’m finally pursuing physical therapy.
