Daniels Vanessa - I just want to pee alone: a collection of hilarious essays about motherhood

Let me start by Saying

W hen I was a spritely , single 20-something working in New York City, I never hesitated to pamper myself.

A sexy satchel would wink at me from a store window: Id pop in and buy it.

Sunday afternoons were spent giving myself homemade facials and sparkly pedicures.

I worked hard, and made a point to hunt down the pampering I deserved.

From the moment I was first pregnant, and those around me insisted that treats such as cold cuts and nail polish could cut my unborn childs potential IQ in half, I got into the habit of not seeking out the little things that brought me joy. Like soft cheese. And getting too close to a Starbucks.

Then my son came, and I was too busy crying while searching for his User Manual to consider a manicure or a massage.

I lasted about a week as a new mom before reaching out to others in my situation online. As exhausted, cranky, and confused as I was, I needed friends.

It didnt take long for this gaggle of desperate, sleepless women to meet up in person. A handful of us clicked like old friends from the start, and we decided to celebrate making it to our kids first birthdays with a Moms Weekend at the spa.

The concept of an entire weekend away seemed crazy. Selfish. Totally. Awesome.

We had our bags packed a month ahead of time.

In October of 2006, five of us headed out on our kidless adventure. It was the first time any of us had spent a night away from our families since we became parents. For two of us (including me), it was the first and last time wed get away for a while, since we had already managed to get ourselves knocked up again.

I was about twelve weeks into a pretty tough pregnancy, but refused to cancel my plans. I had booked a body wrap for Saturday morning, and prayed Id feel well enough to go through with it. I knew I deserved to relax, but also knew it would take me a week to recover from the effort. Honestly, that weekend would have been considered a success if all that had happened was that we each got two days of uninterrupted bowel movements, but we had a lot of lost pampering time to make up for.

Why is it that when you try to do nice things for yourself once youre a parent, it always feels like a compromise?

None of us were in the habit of pampering ourselves anymore. Heck, none of us were in the habit of showering regularly anymore, but we were determined to fight the good fight and make the most of every minute of this vacation from reality.

We stumbled into our quiet suites and began a weekend of trying to figure out how to relax and enjoy ourselves while wrapped in the threads of Mom Guilt that had secretly wound around us over the past year.

I woke up the next morning wanting to stay in bed, but insisted on soaking up every luxury I could, even if it killed me, so we allheaded over to the spa facilities.

I stripped down to my birthday suit in the spa bathroom like the desk clerk told me to do for the wrap, quickly covering up with a fluffy robe, as my less-uptight friends changed in the main locker area. Holding the robe tight, so as to not accidentally flash anyone, I blushed furiously at the thought of someone getting a peek of my private parts due to an overzealous leg crossing or too-loose belt knot.

With all the poking and prodding I had during my pregnancies, youd think my prudishness about public nudity would have waned. Not the case. I was still the girl who didnt wear shorts unless it was over a hundred degrees out. I was still the girl who hadnt owned a skirt in fifteen years. I was uncomfortable even with this naked-under-my-robe situation, but fought through it in the name of relaxation.

Because nothings more relaxing than battling the threat of a wardrobe malfunction.

Everyone else comfortably chatted as hints of their cleavage peeked out, and bathrobe hemlines slid up their bare thighs. I averted my eyes, and held on tight until my name was called.

When we entered my treatment room, table prepped to discreetly wrap me up like a burrito, the lady who was to do my wrap stopped short and said, Im sorry, but we cant do wraps on pregnant women.

I told her that I had confirmed they could with four of their employees, so she went out to grab her manager, who came to tell me that they absolutely could not do it. I asked for a pregnancy massage instead, but they said the only other treatment room available at that time was a body scrub.

I wanted a wrap. Id settle for a massage. If I were home, Id cancel the appointment and wait for exactly what I wanted. Actually, if I were home Id be elbow-deep in someone elses poop, so I bucked up and accepted the offer of a body scrub. I used to like to try new things, and, really, how bad could it be?