I’ve never thought I had penis envy.

There may be a small period of time each month where I howl like a dog and wish I had my very own tripod. Nobody in their right mind wants to have to don a pair of period panties, but that isn’t really penis envy is it? Seems more like common sense to me.

And that time my son wrote my name in the snow? I, for one small second, totally wished I had a stem just to see if that particular talent runs in the family. But it’s not like I wanted my own penis. I already have a penis. It just happens to be attached to my husband.

For the most part I revel in my womanhood. It’s no secret that I have an ongoing-love affair with all things boob related.

And as much as I didn’t love the feeling of having three rabid wildebeests claw their way out of my vagina, I wouldn’t trade that experience for anything.

There is nothing so heart warming as feeling your unborn child’s little elbows in your ribs. Nor are there words to express that alien-like moment when you can actually count their fingers or toes as they try to crawl through your stomach skin.

Moments like those are worth the price of female admission; even if emotional instability, irritability and the odd second of irrational insanity sometimes accompanies the one on the ride of womanhood.

Nope, I just didn’t think I had penis envy.

But then, this weekend, as my husband and I took a road trip with our newly expanded family, I realized I may have a *wee* (makes minute gesture with her thumb and forefinger) case of penis envy.

It hit me shortly after the kids piped up about having to go to the washroom. It didn’t matter they had already gone to the washroom a half hour prior, the two liters of pop they used to wash down the salt of potato chips their father fed them against my motherly instincts was ready rapidly filling up their bladders and demanding to be released.

My husband, the thoughtful father he is, pulled over to the side of the road next to a small tumbleweed sized bush and pointed it out to his children.

“Your potty awaits you,” he grinned.

Frac, being the boy, hopped out of the car without a second thought and took to spraying urine all over the highway with his hose.

Fric however, rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest and declared “NO.”

I looked up from my crackblackberry, to watch the show down. For once it wasn’t me going head to head with my preteen daughter. This ought to be fun, I thought to myself evilly.

Boo looked surprise and perhaps a wee bit slighted as though he was thinking, “What? My little tumbleweed roadside bush isn’t good enough for you to pee behind?”

“I’m not peeing behind those twigs nor am I peeing next to the highway. I can hold it until we find a bathroom,” Fric said rather imperially.

“Well, then I guess you are going to hold it for a long time because the next time I stop this vehicle it’s because we are at our destination,” Boo replied equally imperially.

There was silence as father and daughter eyed one another and wondered who would be the first to break. Stubbornness is a quality highly prized in our family dynamics.

Just then Frac jumped back into the car and looked at his sister and asked if she had to go to the washroom.

“Yes, I do, but apparently I am going to be holding it for a while,” she said while glaring at her father.

Boo turned around and smiled to me and headed back onto the open road.

It wasn’t long after that moment that I realized *I* had to go pee. Great. Do I risk poking the bear or do I just squirm in discomfort for the next hour and a half?

My battered bladder voted on poking the bear and since my dignity largely rides on the fact she keeps me dry and stink free most days, I agreed with it.

“Boo,” I leaned over to whisper in his ear, “I have to pee. Badly. Like if you don’t find a gas station immediately the leather upholstery is in direct danger of being ruined.”

I love it when my husband glares at me. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “Seriously Tanis?” he whispered back.

“As serious as the Niagra falls dude. Sorry.”

“Shit.”

“No, just number one, really,” I joked to him. (Note to self: Don’t go out of your way to annoy your husband when he is already aggravated with you in general.)

It wasn’t much longer before my husband was pulling over and into a roadside rest stop.

“Dude, I said a gas station!”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Tanis. It’s this or the bush. The next gas station is almost an hour away.”

“Shit.”

“I thought you said you only had to do number one?” he joked back right before I ripped his face off with my bare hands and then licked my bloodied fingers clean.

Laughing, Boo turned around and gestured to Fric, “For you my princess. I drove to the ends of the earth for you bodily needs. Oh wait,” he said as he reached into the glove box and then turned back to Fric and handed her a crumpled napkin, “here, in case there is no toilet paper. Don’t say I never do anything for you,” he snickered.

Fric rolled her eyes and jumped out with the innocence of one who has never had to pee inside a plastic roadside portapotty before. Me, I just sat in the vehicle and glowered about my lot in life.

When Fric hopped back in the car she shuddered as she informed me it was my turn and then mentioned how disgusting the inside of the plastic outhouse was.

Boo laughed as I told him I’d rather pee in the forest and use leaves for toilet paper and then like the wise ass he is, pointed out there was no forest in sight. Just fields of snow. As far as the eye could see.

Dammit. Where’s a log to squat over when you need one, I grumped as I got out of the car and trudged to my plastic encased hell.

I’m not a pansy. I’ll pee anywhere. Usually. I’ve even been known to bypass the ridiculously long lines at bars and concerts and barge into the mens room. Filth doesn’t scare me.

Once upon a time, before children and any semblance of dignity set in, I could even pee standing up. It wasn’t pretty but it could be done.

If I had an extra set of pants, I would have tried that old trick once again because upon opening the door to the plastic pee potk, the waft of human waste and chemicals threatened to singe my nose hairs off.

I did the ole hover and squat with out touching anything and thanked the heaven I remembered to stick kleenex in my coat pockets because the only toilet paper in sight was an old piece of sand paper with some black goo on it stuck to the floor.

As I kicked the door open so as not to touch it with my hands, it was at that moment I realized I had a hard-on for a penis. Or a throbbing case of penis envy.

“Dude, you need to find a gas station,” I informed Boo as I scrubbed my hands vigorously with the hand sanitizer I keep in the glove box.

“Why? You just went,” Boo sighed with annoyance.

“We still have the trip home to face. And after that little visit to hell, I have decided it would be easier to pee in a bottle than face that indignity again. I need me a cup. And more diapers. Cuz I’m diapering all the kids on the way back home like they diaper astronauts. Jumby won’t mind sharing his stash.”

“You are insane,” my husband laughed as my children cringed with horror at the thought of being diapered once again.

“I’m not insane. I’m vaginally challenged. I need a man-china. But a cup will do. If it’s good enough for Mr.Lady and truckers everywhere, it’s good enough for me.”

Penis envy. It sneaks up on a gal and then springs to attention.

***Postscript: I have since discovered this site and their product. I’m totally buying it and reviewing it on my blog. Why? Because I can. It’ll be fud (Female urnination device.) er, fun. And it’s the next best thing to growing a dick.***