After years of worrying that running or sneezing would leave me needing fresh underwear, a quick, minimally invasive procedure changed my life
Some of my earliest memories feature my mother’s leotard-encased body bouncing to Jane Fonda with abandon. A similar carefree fluidity prevailed a decade later, as her feet struck hard-packed sand on a shorebreak jog. Twelve-year-old me panted alongside, so desperate to be made in her image that I tolerated heated cheeks and shaking quads. Their trembling barely subsided during the one stop we made, for her to wade into the waves and pee.
But it got easier to keep up after she gave birth to my youngest brother, with her squatting in the bushes every 10 minutes or so. Soon, even that wasn’t enough to staunch the flow. She gave up and switched to hiking. “I should have done more Kegels,” she quipped.
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