pregnancy reboot, this isn’t in the manual
May 6, 2011 § 1 Comment
Firstly, a polite notice for any gentlemen reading. That includes you OH. In the style of the sports presenter on News at Ten before Match of the Day, if you don’t want to know, look away now. Following on from my earlier post…Blooming Marvellous, or, whatever happened to my bikini line, I’ve decided once again to be honest about the ‘joys’ of pregnancy. It may not be a pretty sight.
Despite spending most of my evenings delicately bouncing away on my swiss ball in my sensible maternity dungarees, a glass of freshly squeezed carrot juice perched on my bump, doing gentle pelvic floor exercises whilst listening to whale music (this may or may not be true), it has come to my attention that my body is about as temple-like as my local bus shelter, slightly weather beaten and worn out by the number of bums it has had to carry.
Can I be the only person who when in a yoga class, told to lift one’s pelvic floor in the manner of an elevator to various floors and hold, is convinced that she is living in a bungalow? Clearly I am deficient in this area, despite having (between pregnancies) suffered the indignity of regular usage of the pelvic floor ‘exerciser’ I was advised to invest in. (Consider too the practicality of concealing from the children a bedside implement that resembles a cross between GHD hair straighteners, a dildo, and a spring loaded medieval torture device.) The weakness of my bladder muscles is really some cause for concern. If unlucky enough to contract a stomach bug it is very hard not to pee whilst throwing up. Sneezing also requires some very quick squeezing in order to avoid embarrassment. Trampolining and running machines? Right out.
Probably one of the most undignified things to have happened to me in a long time occurred on Monday night. I woke up to the sound of a crying 1yo, and decided to get him a drink of water. I slipped and fell down the length of the stairs and cut my foot open. Poor OH came running and was confronted not just by my blood all over the floor, but a wet patch too, making me have to admit that my full bladder had slightly ‘lost control’ due to the shock/impact of the fall. You can bet any remaining seductive, female allure took a hike forever upon that moment. If there was any mystique left for him having already witnessed two births and their aftermaths. Episiotomy cushion, anyone? Catheter bag?
No, pregnancy for me is not a time for me to marvel at my changing physical form. Although I love this little wriggling being I am growing and carrying, I smell bad, there are excretions there shouldn’t be, my breasts are losing their war against gravity, there are swellings in places I don’t wish to talk about, and at eight months I now appear to be developing an extra chin. Not many of these things are in the manual.