To Pee or Not to Pee

The Boy and I were walking home after a short coffee/shopping trip down to the Village, and that vague thought in the back of my head, the one that went ...at some point I may have to pee... turned suddenly and violently into I have to pee NOW. I'm about seven minutes from home. I can make it. Sure. What's seven minutes?

Think dry thoughts. Sand. Sahara Desert. Grand Canyon. Actuarial Textbooks. Hmm, not working. I start to chant quietly under my breath "ihavetopee, ihavetopee, ihavetopee..." Hot damn this is the longest seven minutes of my life. The stroller collides with a chunk of frozen snow, and the handlebar hits my stomach. Oof, not good.

Then something occurs to me. I can make it home in seven minutes. By myself. I am with The Boy. Not only do I have to get home, I have to lift the stroller up on the porch and get The Boy inside. The Boy, who insists that all the lights in the house be turned on before anything else happens (oh the energy bill..!). The Boy, who must be released from his winter raiments unless you want to listen to a non-stop chorus of "Hat off! Jackey off! Boots off! Mummy's jackey off!" Over and over. I really hate winter sometimes.

Well 'seven minutes' might as well be a lifetime. I start pushing the stroller faster. I start dancing a crude little jig. The closer we are to the house, the more I have to pee. By the time I get the stroller on to the porch, I might as well be holding Niagara Falls at bay. Shit, where's the damn key? Shit, who makes these damn stroller seatbelts so hard to undo? Shit, did I say that out loud? Damn. Don't swear in front of The Boy. I start leaping up and down. I grab The Boy rather more forcibly than I am wont to and barrel indoors.

There is no bathroom on the main floor, so here's my quandry, do I:

a) ...turn on the lights, undress the Boy and myself, take the Boy to the playroom then go pee? This risks possible overflow. Not pretty.
b) ...take us both, hats, coats and all, upstairs? We have a rather narrow staircase and an even smaller bathroom. Awkward.
c) ...cut bait and run?

Well, I'm not good at making decisions in the best of circumstances. When the urine is approaching eye-level, I have no rational thought whatsoever. I'm afraid I chose Option C. I said "Stay right there, please. Mummy's gotta go potty." And I ran. I was back downstairs in under a minute, and the Boy hadn't moved, but it was not a shining moment in motherhood at Casa Earth. I was faced with a choice between The Call of Motherhood and The Call of Nature, and I chose the latter. Sigh. Is is possible to legitimize my actions by saying it was a pre-potty lesson for the Boy?

Do I have the smallest bladder on the face of the planet? What would you do in my place??