Tuesday, 24 August 2010

Misery and Deforestation

I don’t use tampons because I can always feel them. It doesn’t matter where or how I put them in  - they’re always there. I’m having a similar sensation at the moment except with a full size BABY.

I have lost my identity. I am merely a vessel. A baby carrier. Like a Baby Bjorn except with wild hair and a lot more self pity. Really – it cannot be much longer now. COME ON baby!

Can I remind you that I am weeks away from my due date but have convinced myself that its coming now?

Since my nostalgic trip to Weymouth I managed to heave my great carcass to the New Forest to the fabulous Careys Manor Hotel where I experienced an interesting massage in the double treatment room with Bushman (a massage novice) who, when asked by the masseuse, accidentally gave the impression that he had no pants on. Typically I was massaged by Miss Piggy in human form while he had a hot, slim, blonde rub him into a snoring slumber. I can’t say it was the most relaxing massage I’ve ever had but it was certainly entertaining and expensive.

Other highlights were the breakfast and spa facilities at said hotel and a rather tacky goth wedding where the mother of the bride looked as if she had just got out of her coffin and in a dress almost identical to the brides just even cheaper looking. It was all very weird.

All holidays/fun/sex/smiles are now over. I cannot imagine that I will be having sex for the foreseeable future. I did indulge in a holiday mercy fuck but I couldn’t relax because I was convinced my water would break and I didn’t want to miss out on breakfast. You can tell things are bad when you trade an orgasm for breakfast. The breakfast was really good though.

Every time I stand up I feel as if this baby is going to drop out. (If only it were that simple). Bushman has no concept of what I am going through. He is unable to act on any kind of nurturing instinct or empathetic initiative. He complains that I am miserable. I keep reminding him that I don’t actually give a fuck what he thinks - he just has to put up with it, take out the rubbish, lift heavy items and do as he is bid.

Yesterday was spent preparing the bed with its many layers of plastic and old sheets and new sheets and sheets for now and sheets for after and sheets for later etc.etc. I feel like the princess and the pea or the princess who might pee, as every time I put weight on the bed the plastic makes that horrible sound which makes one think of incontinent people.

And so I must bid you good day because in preparation for this impending birth I need to put a mirror between my legs and apply some hair removal cream. I hate hair removal cream (and putting a mirror between my legs at the moment) but I have it on good authority that a midwife likes a clean slate and there is no way I can make it to the salon for a Brazilian. I'm hoping to achieve a happy medium. I don't want the pre-pubescent look but the New Forest has to be dealt with.

Wish me luck.


  1. Good luck with the clearing love. Why not ask the Bushman to help? Then we can add Bushwacker to his name. Bushman the Bushwacker...I LIKE IT!!!

  2. Oh no! I just let the bush grow when I'm huge, and then the midwife shaves off the pertinent bits. And leaves the rest, because I hate the pedo-look. But good luck with it.

    And now I'm wondering if your baby's there yet...