There's something wrong in the state of Denmark… and I think I may be it.

Month: January, 2013

Think about it… then don’t.

If you’re like me and were kind of:

a) Antsi the idea of having some stranger shave your vagina just prior to major surgery that will result in the birth of your first son and
b) Equally antsi the idea of stripping from the waist down so some stranger could, prior to going into hospital, pour hot wax on your aching pelvis catching glimpses of what you envision would be the strangest looking genital area to ever spread eagle in front of them (yes, even though this is what they’re trained to do!).

If you’re kind of like me then you may, one Saturday, say the Saturday before the Monday you give birth, decide to address the hair issue yourself. And if you’re also kind of like me and you’ve never really done this before, take my advice, think about it, go out, buy the product even, and then don’t.


If you do and things go slightly off, you’re screwed cos there’s very little you can do with the results. You can’t glue the stuff back on. So I guess, just to be double sure, I’m going to be shaved by a stranger on Monday. I hope they manage to maintain a level of professionalism about all of this.

Am idiot. Should not be allowed to breed.



My friend Christelle C’d yesterday morning – resulting in the beautiful Megan and heaps of information for me.

Now, the main thrust behind the creation or continuation of this blog has been my utter disgust in the lack of honesty and transparency women seem to share with one another when it comes to pregnancy and the gross bits that come along with it.

Christelle has no issue sharing. I have learned more from her over the past 12 hours than I did when I asked my OBGYN what we were facing last week. To him, giving us a very high level view as to what I’m to expect was enough whereas my old work friend has shared everything from the fact that you can expect the indignity of having suppositories inserted by strangers, that the spinal block actually is quite uncomfortable and the effects sometimes do not last as long as the surgery, which will result in the need for more morphine, incredibly bloody gigantic cottony cloud pads will be changed for you until the funsies catheter is removed (approximately twelve hours after surgery), that you actually feel most of the movements down there as they work the relatively smallish cut into a shape that’ll let your baby out easily, and that they actually can lean towards squeezing your baby through the incision in the same way one might squeeze out the hardened contents of a gargantuan boil.

I thank the gods for people like Christelle and actually want her to write an entry for this blog very soon.

In other news, I have five days left. I spend most every hour making sure the kid’s still moving and that I’m not leaking or bleeding or contracting (Braxton Hicks’ continue in earnest). I have also been stocking the fridge, cleaning my home, sewing (SEWING????) and doing washing at any given opportunity, including all the curtains in the house, which were cleaned yesterday for probably the first time since they were hung many moons before we arrived. The kid’s clothes and bedding are at the dry cleaners and, once they’re back, my hospital bags will be complete. All of this on crumbling hips. Good times.

My mother has advised that I begin “preparing my nipples for breastfeeding” (even I won’t go into detail here, unless there’s someone out there who wants to know the advice of a crazy lady) and I’ve decided it might just not be for me, this walking udder career move I’ve been promising to pursue.

We find out for certain in a few days time when I’ll be called upon to either shit or get off the pot. Again, good times.

I’m not sure but I think my next blog will be post birth. Post universe implosion. Post arrival of the small thing that’s going to make a gargantuan impact. I am nervous. There’s nothing else to say about it.

Till then.

The father of my child wants to die…

He must do.

There’s no other explanation for it.

He keeps saying idiotic things like “you’ve had a really easy pregnancy when you think about it…” and “no, really, when you think about it, you’ve had a really easy pregnancy”. It’s like he bashed his head and didn’t seek a medical opinion on the level of damage.

Oh yes, he prefaces the broad, sweeping statements that will ultimately end in his demise with statements like “I realise you’re having a tough few weeks now but…”, as if by doing so he is somehow protecting himself or softening the blow but I (and I’m betting anyone else out there with a two or more digit IQ) know better.

He let on the other day that his mother thinks hip issues are a bit strange. She’s never heard of this phenomenon so it cannot be so, right?

Before hearing this I forgave his tactless opinion. After… death was the only recourse. How dare he?

He says it in front of people too and barely notices their worried stares and warning waves. I hope his son is more socially aware, that’s all I can hope for cos his dad is a lost cause at the moment.

I say it here. If he says it once more. I’m going to create some amount of stink in his Peony-filled life. And I won’t think twice. I’m a good earner. The kid doesn’t *need* private school! Or shoes!

PS: Lying flat on my back on hard surfaces is no longer an option. I did it during my second to last scan on Thursday and spent two days unable to walk. Look, I think old hip issues might be playing a role here but that doesn’t mean I’m dreaming this stuff up.

I have 8 days to go and I’m going to do what I like with them. Believe me, suddenly accepting the discomfort and that pregnancy is appalling is NOT on my list of things to do.