Today feels like I've just had great sex. Except I haven't. Had great sex I mean. I'm 8 months pregnant and feel about as hot as 3 day old cuppa - but you get my drift.
Why? Because Husband took the reins and let me disappear to a double movie bonanza - alone. I drove to the place where I used to live (as I had worked out I could do both movies I wanted to see - one straight after the other). Skipped inside, got my old usual - a hazelnut (decaf) latte, 3 straws to chew (my guilty cinema habit) and settled in to my comfy chair with masses of legroom. I wanted to shout out 'Honey, I'm home,' I was so freakin' happy.
First up was 'The Kids Are Alright' with Julianne Moore and Annette Benning. I'd high old hopes from this one - I'd read many triumphant reviews and interviews with the director. It wasn't bad - a really clever premise and top notch acting - but it just didn't move me. There were lovely subtle moments, but it didn't blow me away. I left feeling a bit 'meh' about it - but pleased I'd got to see it. Mark Ruffalo can do no wrong in my eyes...
Then I dashed over to screen 2 for 'The Social Network.' Aaron Sorkin penned it, directed by Fincher - what's not to like? It was all about the founding of Facebook and the legal wranglings that ensued. One fifty plus blonde two seats along from me, nattering to her friend throughout, finally announced she had had enough and it was 'so boring' and left. Idiot. It was great. Pacey, well acted (Justin Timberlake - you do a complete cock so well - a great performance) and full of smart dialogue and razor sharp editing. Dark, humorous and engaging - the script bouncing off the screen as if Sorkin had thoroughly enjoyed the banter such genius minds can realistically spout. It made me never want to reactivate my facebook account again - and showed how money really doesn't bring happiness or any of the worthwhile rewards life can offer: close relationships, friendships, loyalty, teamwork, love, etc.
I came out feeling quite high. For 4 hours I'd been 'me' again. Doing something I love best - catching a flick. Then I pockled in Habitat for twenty minutes without being hurried by Husband complaining that all I do is 'nest' these days. I drove home to Husband cooking, Sproglet in great form (all excited about his two back to back parties tomorrow followed by a trick or treat fest) and felt like a new woman.
After a week's full child care duties, as it was half term, (where I discovered the 8th circle of hell - Gambados - a huge soft play area, that cost me £8:25 for each kid, £5 registration fee (???) and £2.50 for me to sit on my ass while children screeched all round me. In short - hell. Sproglet came back to me an hour and a half later the colour of an over ripe tomato, with his wee mate hyperventilating and coughing up a lung. Said mate pissed his pants on route home. Oh yes, it was the day that just kept giving) I deserved a break.
I don't want huge nights on the town, a wardrobe of glam clothes and fancy trinkets... nope, I just want to get to the movies. Gimme my straws, a latte and a half decent script and I'm as happy a jaybird. If you get a chance - check out 'The Social Network' and avoid 'Gambados' as all costs....
Saturday, 30 October 2010
Thursday, 28 October 2010
It'll all be over soon.... not soon enough
Things I am looking forward to in 5 weeks + :
1. Having more than one pair of jeans to wear (the rest all fall down when I walk or cut off the blood supply to my groin when I sit down) and more than 4 tops....
2. My old bras!! Hello - come to Mama. I will feel practically flat chested in my DD cups. Hurrah!!!
3. Not weeing 4 times a night.
4. Not having to straddle a V shaped pillow like I am humping it to death in a bid to get within the vicinity of the word 'comfy' in bed at night.
5. Not waddling like a duck/ walking like Liam Gallagher circa 1995
6. Not having something do the rumba inside me just as I settle down to sleep, using my bladder as it's dancing partner
7. Drinking!! Oh my god - that lychee martini has my name on it... that and it's five siblings - the watermelon, the straight up, the cosmo, the apple and the vanilla....
8. Not having to have needles stuck into me seemingly every week to hoke blood out of me and having midwives prod me to tell me that baby is in breech....
9. Sleeping on my stomach. Not that I'll be getting much sleep, but still.
10. My bouncing new baby of course.
Things I am not looking forward to in 5 weeks + :
1. Maternity pads entering my life.
2. Having to care about my bikini wax again - when at present I am amazon woman - expecting to find a pube in my belly button any day now. (Matt Evans - TMI? Sorry).
3. Not being able to eat mince pies in October in a day when I have eaten apple pie and cream and ice cream and felt no guilt.
4. Having no excuse for my bulging stomach and looking at my old wardrobe knowing it is out of my grasp, until I step away from the cream.
5. Being up all night, not just to wee.
6. Things leaking at inappropriate times.
7. Midwives making me feel like the devil incarnate when I admit I do not want to breast feed because it makes me uncomfortable; my chest is like a foreign land that I want to reclaim and I honestly recoil at the thought of lopping out a G cup in public. Oh the horror.
8. The meltdowns when the wee one won't stop crying and I've done everything possible to stop the howling and it is 4am and freezing cold and I have forgotten what year it is let alone what day.
9. The thought of having to socialise with other new Mothers for some sanity and the terror they bring me with their 'I am earth Mother hear me roar' words of wisdom as they sing lullabies to Hugo/Arabella/Oscar and talk of orgasms during breast feeding.
10. Oh the mere responsibility of two children.... ho hum.
These are the thoughts that rage around my head when I lie awake at 3am wishing for sleep. Coupled with the mundane - why is my new dryer not working? Will I ever work again next year - how can I with two kids? Why am I having another baby? Will I ever wear heels again? Did I remember to record The Apprentice? Where can I get those tiny red veins lazered away? What would I do if I won the lottery? Please can I win the lottery? Who is shagging who on the show I have (only just) finished working on? (but am going back to - so will work until two weeks before I pop.) What will happen to Riggins in FNL 4? Will he EVER grow out those bad hair layers? Did I switch the heating off? What are we going to call the sprog?
Maybe you thought - where is CrummyMummy - is she missing in action? After this dull post, now you are wishing I was...
1. Having more than one pair of jeans to wear (the rest all fall down when I walk or cut off the blood supply to my groin when I sit down) and more than 4 tops....
2. My old bras!! Hello - come to Mama. I will feel practically flat chested in my DD cups. Hurrah!!!
3. Not weeing 4 times a night.
4. Not having to straddle a V shaped pillow like I am humping it to death in a bid to get within the vicinity of the word 'comfy' in bed at night.
5. Not waddling like a duck/ walking like Liam Gallagher circa 1995
6. Not having something do the rumba inside me just as I settle down to sleep, using my bladder as it's dancing partner
7. Drinking!! Oh my god - that lychee martini has my name on it... that and it's five siblings - the watermelon, the straight up, the cosmo, the apple and the vanilla....
8. Not having to have needles stuck into me seemingly every week to hoke blood out of me and having midwives prod me to tell me that baby is in breech....
9. Sleeping on my stomach. Not that I'll be getting much sleep, but still.
10. My bouncing new baby of course.
Things I am not looking forward to in 5 weeks + :
1. Maternity pads entering my life.
2. Having to care about my bikini wax again - when at present I am amazon woman - expecting to find a pube in my belly button any day now. (Matt Evans - TMI? Sorry).
3. Not being able to eat mince pies in October in a day when I have eaten apple pie and cream and ice cream and felt no guilt.
4. Having no excuse for my bulging stomach and looking at my old wardrobe knowing it is out of my grasp, until I step away from the cream.
5. Being up all night, not just to wee.
6. Things leaking at inappropriate times.
7. Midwives making me feel like the devil incarnate when I admit I do not want to breast feed because it makes me uncomfortable; my chest is like a foreign land that I want to reclaim and I honestly recoil at the thought of lopping out a G cup in public. Oh the horror.
8. The meltdowns when the wee one won't stop crying and I've done everything possible to stop the howling and it is 4am and freezing cold and I have forgotten what year it is let alone what day.
9. The thought of having to socialise with other new Mothers for some sanity and the terror they bring me with their 'I am earth Mother hear me roar' words of wisdom as they sing lullabies to Hugo/Arabella/Oscar and talk of orgasms during breast feeding.
10. Oh the mere responsibility of two children.... ho hum.
These are the thoughts that rage around my head when I lie awake at 3am wishing for sleep. Coupled with the mundane - why is my new dryer not working? Will I ever work again next year - how can I with two kids? Why am I having another baby? Will I ever wear heels again? Did I remember to record The Apprentice? Where can I get those tiny red veins lazered away? What would I do if I won the lottery? Please can I win the lottery? Who is shagging who on the show I have (only just) finished working on? (but am going back to - so will work until two weeks before I pop.) What will happen to Riggins in FNL 4? Will he EVER grow out those bad hair layers? Did I switch the heating off? What are we going to call the sprog?
Maybe you thought - where is CrummyMummy - is she missing in action? After this dull post, now you are wishing I was...
Sunday, 10 October 2010
What to do?
It always comes down to money. Always. Husband will work out what he has left for the rest of the month and then get all frustrated that it is never 'enough' - whatever 'enough' is... Then I feel all guilty that I've only got 2 more weeks work and then 6 weeks later another mouth to feed, body to clothe. Then - who knows what I will do, how I will do it. As the bastard Tory government penalise the middle classes for having children and take away our child benefit and cut back on the child care voucher system, once again it is only the uber rich that come away unscathed.
I feel so angry at my foolish 20 something self - imagining a lucrative career in tv. Then again, at that age I imagined I'd marry a rock star and never have to worry about the green stuff ever again. I look around and wonder how some folks do it - how one guy I know said he liked to have twenty grand in savings tucked away... Oh I know so many get help from their folks - 'gifted' money to buy their houses, pay their mortgages, etc. We don't get any financial help at all from our families. Not that we would expect it. In saying that my Dad helped me buy my first flat as my Grandfather left him a generous amount - but he lost a lot of that in a recent stock market crash. Does everyone worry about money? I guess they never talk about it.
Anyway - I'm angry at myself for being so fucking whimsical. Yes I have had some truly amazing experiences - I really loved being a kid's tv presenter, and doing my live debate show every Friday night in Ireland; I've had some brilliant moments as a reporter and I've made some great friends through all my jobs. But can I really keep going in an industry that sucks the blood from you and then pays poorly simply because it can - because if you don't want the job - then step aside (what was your name again?) as 300 others do - for half the price you were charging. People think TV is glamorous - ha! As Giles Coren the food critic said this weekend - every job becomes what it is - a job. No matter how exciting to begin with. Maybe I should have gone to work in a bank - been some fancy schmancy account manager by now, in my big 4 storey mansion complaining that my diamond shoes are too tight and my wallet is too small for my fifties...
But I went with my heart and always tried to work at something that made my heart sing. Made me inspired. Excited to go to work - and by and large all my jobs have done. A long stint at a quiz channel wasn't exactly the highlight of my presenting career - but it was well paid for a mere 3 hours work a day. And the crew made every shift a joy. Money has never motivated me before. I never wanted to be a slave to the pound - working away in a daily grind, in a sea of grey just to buy myself pretty things. I was watching Russell Brand (of all people) the other night - interviewed by Paxman - and he had a point - we live in such a consumerist society where status and money are the ultimate goal - and yet we are more unhappy and less satisfied than ever - perhaps because we have neglected the spiritual element in order to attain these material goals. The irony being that the more we get, the more we want. Great house? 'Yes, but it only has 3 bedrooms, and we'd love patio doors that fold back, and a better car.' Etc. Who isn't guilty of such talk?
It goes against the core of my being to simply be motivated by money. And yet... we need it. To send Sproglet to his Little Kickers football, to cook healthy meals, to pay for swimming lessons and movie visits and to clothe him. To pay our bills that keep a comin' - a mortgage, etc etc.
I feel so torn. On one hand I've always tried to be true to myself - but now with a family in tow, perhaps I can't continue like this. Maybe I need to do career change no 3 - and think about working in something that pays well even if it makes me want to open a vein. And what can a 37 year old mother of two ex-presenter, ex-script editor, ex-associate producer, actually do for a living? Did all this hopping around and varied experiences only serve to make me a jack of trades and master of none?
If I'd started in the public sector, or banking, where would I be now? Not living in fear about the fact that once again - I have no maternity pay bar statutory. That once again I will have a baby and have about 3 months in which to lose the weight, find childcare and get another job. Find a job. With two kids. Oh I know I could have chosen not to have them - but is it not the reason for being here? I feel punished for the choices I have made and annoyed that somehow here I am - an educated broadcaster/editor who spends more of her time looking for work than finding it.
Mad thoughts run through my brain - should I walk around with a sign on me until someone employs me (like one desperate graduate did in Oxford st last year) or pay for an advert to shove my CV in Broadcast magazine - post it online and see who responds, ditch Husband and marry a 92 year old billionaire with a heart condition in Texas because 'I love him' or sell a kidney? Could I come up with a fabulous new invention, (like a comfy bra in pregnancy) or set up a website for women like me (that does what? - who knows), should I even try to finish the book that my agent just pulverised - when ironically I have discovered that writing alone day in and day out made me miserable? Perhaps high class prostitution is an answer - maybe someone has a fetish for G cups, skin tags and 7 months pregnant women who haven't had a good waxing in months as after all - they can't see down there anyway?
I wish I had a mentor to turn to. Someone to say - ok, CM, lemme see your CV. Ok - this is what you should do... Blah Blah... Oh and this well paid job, it comes with childcare on site and part time flexible hours. Fabulous. Sometimes I swim in my head for hours, this stuff watered from a small acorn into becoming a fucking huge tree.
And then, at the end of it all I think of my dear best friend coming round here on Friday for dinner and telling me about her work friend who is 40, single and childless, who next week will have double mastectomy followed later by a hysterectomy, all in order to stop the inevitable cancer that killed her Mother and is ravaging her sister. Then I think to myself - shut the fuck up. It's only money and I remember what my Dad says - which is 'you are nothing without your health.'
I feel so angry at my foolish 20 something self - imagining a lucrative career in tv. Then again, at that age I imagined I'd marry a rock star and never have to worry about the green stuff ever again. I look around and wonder how some folks do it - how one guy I know said he liked to have twenty grand in savings tucked away... Oh I know so many get help from their folks - 'gifted' money to buy their houses, pay their mortgages, etc. We don't get any financial help at all from our families. Not that we would expect it. In saying that my Dad helped me buy my first flat as my Grandfather left him a generous amount - but he lost a lot of that in a recent stock market crash. Does everyone worry about money? I guess they never talk about it.
Anyway - I'm angry at myself for being so fucking whimsical. Yes I have had some truly amazing experiences - I really loved being a kid's tv presenter, and doing my live debate show every Friday night in Ireland; I've had some brilliant moments as a reporter and I've made some great friends through all my jobs. But can I really keep going in an industry that sucks the blood from you and then pays poorly simply because it can - because if you don't want the job - then step aside (what was your name again?) as 300 others do - for half the price you were charging. People think TV is glamorous - ha! As Giles Coren the food critic said this weekend - every job becomes what it is - a job. No matter how exciting to begin with. Maybe I should have gone to work in a bank - been some fancy schmancy account manager by now, in my big 4 storey mansion complaining that my diamond shoes are too tight and my wallet is too small for my fifties...
But I went with my heart and always tried to work at something that made my heart sing. Made me inspired. Excited to go to work - and by and large all my jobs have done. A long stint at a quiz channel wasn't exactly the highlight of my presenting career - but it was well paid for a mere 3 hours work a day. And the crew made every shift a joy. Money has never motivated me before. I never wanted to be a slave to the pound - working away in a daily grind, in a sea of grey just to buy myself pretty things. I was watching Russell Brand (of all people) the other night - interviewed by Paxman - and he had a point - we live in such a consumerist society where status and money are the ultimate goal - and yet we are more unhappy and less satisfied than ever - perhaps because we have neglected the spiritual element in order to attain these material goals. The irony being that the more we get, the more we want. Great house? 'Yes, but it only has 3 bedrooms, and we'd love patio doors that fold back, and a better car.' Etc. Who isn't guilty of such talk?
It goes against the core of my being to simply be motivated by money. And yet... we need it. To send Sproglet to his Little Kickers football, to cook healthy meals, to pay for swimming lessons and movie visits and to clothe him. To pay our bills that keep a comin' - a mortgage, etc etc.
I feel so torn. On one hand I've always tried to be true to myself - but now with a family in tow, perhaps I can't continue like this. Maybe I need to do career change no 3 - and think about working in something that pays well even if it makes me want to open a vein. And what can a 37 year old mother of two ex-presenter, ex-script editor, ex-associate producer, actually do for a living? Did all this hopping around and varied experiences only serve to make me a jack of trades and master of none?
If I'd started in the public sector, or banking, where would I be now? Not living in fear about the fact that once again - I have no maternity pay bar statutory. That once again I will have a baby and have about 3 months in which to lose the weight, find childcare and get another job. Find a job. With two kids. Oh I know I could have chosen not to have them - but is it not the reason for being here? I feel punished for the choices I have made and annoyed that somehow here I am - an educated broadcaster/editor who spends more of her time looking for work than finding it.
Mad thoughts run through my brain - should I walk around with a sign on me until someone employs me (like one desperate graduate did in Oxford st last year) or pay for an advert to shove my CV in Broadcast magazine - post it online and see who responds, ditch Husband and marry a 92 year old billionaire with a heart condition in Texas because 'I love him' or sell a kidney? Could I come up with a fabulous new invention, (like a comfy bra in pregnancy) or set up a website for women like me (that does what? - who knows), should I even try to finish the book that my agent just pulverised - when ironically I have discovered that writing alone day in and day out made me miserable? Perhaps high class prostitution is an answer - maybe someone has a fetish for G cups, skin tags and 7 months pregnant women who haven't had a good waxing in months as after all - they can't see down there anyway?
I wish I had a mentor to turn to. Someone to say - ok, CM, lemme see your CV. Ok - this is what you should do... Blah Blah... Oh and this well paid job, it comes with childcare on site and part time flexible hours. Fabulous. Sometimes I swim in my head for hours, this stuff watered from a small acorn into becoming a fucking huge tree.
And then, at the end of it all I think of my dear best friend coming round here on Friday for dinner and telling me about her work friend who is 40, single and childless, who next week will have double mastectomy followed later by a hysterectomy, all in order to stop the inevitable cancer that killed her Mother and is ravaging her sister. Then I think to myself - shut the fuck up. It's only money and I remember what my Dad says - which is 'you are nothing without your health.'
Thursday, 7 October 2010
Wish it could always be like this...
As I write Husband is doing the school run. This NEVER happens - but as he is still on hols until Monday we are dividing more of the parental labour and he is currently marching 3 wee ones up a hill to school. I too am not back at work until Monday (for only 2 more weeks) so this is a luxury - blogging before 9am...
We've just returned for 10 days in Ireland - catching up with family and friends. It's been blissful to spend so much time with each other and hang out with Sproglet. As life rushes past in a blur of work and school and bills and chores it was lovely to just stop and mooch around having cafe lunches, strolls by the sea, rock pooling with Sproglet (got a bit competitive mind you - Husband got 3 crabs - small fry to my 2 mini fish, 7 shrimp things and a starfish; Sproglet's job was to tip them all back into the sea and for the record, he liked my starfish best) catch a movie (The Town - worth a look) and gorge on a high tea at the beautiful Merchant Hotel in Belfast. Cream being my new vice - this was as close to heaven as I can get at the mo.
We spent Saturday night with some old friends and Sproglet ran off with their son to play from the minute we arrived and then they refused to go to sleep that evening - they were too busy playing and 'reading' books. It was too cute how happily they hung out together. As for us adults, we watched the X factor, indulged in some hearty stew and for the pregnant ladies half a glass of a meaty red followed by some glorious chocolate puddings with equal amounts of cream (of course). We are just so rock n roll these days eh? But it was all so relaxed and cosy and great.
Seeing family made me all squishy and happy - as I haven't been home since Xmas. Most of them live by the sea and I found myself every evening at my Mum's house, watching the waves crash on the rocks and realising the pull of the ocean is indeed strong. No wonder so many return to their homeland. Oh, I don't want to go back - but it was a welcome escape from the norm. I find myself missing folk, wishing we lived nearer so Sproglet could know his cousins better and spend more time with his Grandparents.
Now we are home it I'm just enjoying the last few days with Husband before his work engulfs him once more. We get on so much better when we actually get to spend some time together. Plus, I've stopped worrying about next year and what I'm going to do for money and with 2 kids and childcare etc. It'll all work out - it always does. See, holidays give you some head peace - which for me is usually nigh on impossible. If only it could always be like this...
We've just returned for 10 days in Ireland - catching up with family and friends. It's been blissful to spend so much time with each other and hang out with Sproglet. As life rushes past in a blur of work and school and bills and chores it was lovely to just stop and mooch around having cafe lunches, strolls by the sea, rock pooling with Sproglet (got a bit competitive mind you - Husband got 3 crabs - small fry to my 2 mini fish, 7 shrimp things and a starfish; Sproglet's job was to tip them all back into the sea and for the record, he liked my starfish best) catch a movie (The Town - worth a look) and gorge on a high tea at the beautiful Merchant Hotel in Belfast. Cream being my new vice - this was as close to heaven as I can get at the mo.
We spent Saturday night with some old friends and Sproglet ran off with their son to play from the minute we arrived and then they refused to go to sleep that evening - they were too busy playing and 'reading' books. It was too cute how happily they hung out together. As for us adults, we watched the X factor, indulged in some hearty stew and for the pregnant ladies half a glass of a meaty red followed by some glorious chocolate puddings with equal amounts of cream (of course). We are just so rock n roll these days eh? But it was all so relaxed and cosy and great.
Seeing family made me all squishy and happy - as I haven't been home since Xmas. Most of them live by the sea and I found myself every evening at my Mum's house, watching the waves crash on the rocks and realising the pull of the ocean is indeed strong. No wonder so many return to their homeland. Oh, I don't want to go back - but it was a welcome escape from the norm. I find myself missing folk, wishing we lived nearer so Sproglet could know his cousins better and spend more time with his Grandparents.
Now we are home it I'm just enjoying the last few days with Husband before his work engulfs him once more. We get on so much better when we actually get to spend some time together. Plus, I've stopped worrying about next year and what I'm going to do for money and with 2 kids and childcare etc. It'll all work out - it always does. See, holidays give you some head peace - which for me is usually nigh on impossible. If only it could always be like this...
Monday, 4 October 2010
Boobs or bust
It's got beyond a joke. My boobs officially require their own passport, ID and own island to live on. I mean - how big can pregnant breasts get? Don't answer that. My G cups runneth over and I refuse to go higher because I simply can't fathom that my chest is almost bigger than my bump. It isn't pretty. I look like me with a cartoon drawn upon my frame. My mammeries have nowhere to go in their 'no underwire' rule bras - they are just sandwiched together, jostling for space and rubbing each other up the wrong way.
Oh yes, between the mountainous breasts runs an itchy irritated river of discontent - that no amount of talc or sudocream or moisturiser or anything can help. It is like they hate one another - the sweaty space they try to fit won't let them breathe so they are staging their own silent protest. I can't bear to look at myself naked in a mirror. Don't even get me started on my ever changing nipples. Too much info? Sorry - but try living with them. I feel utterly removed from myself - some overblown porno queen whose surgeon didn't know when to say 'no.'
Then there is the butt pain. Who knew that waddling would hurt so much in the muscles in your ass? Throw in some piles for good measure and basically my pregnancy is just one royal pain in the arse. I am of course grateful to be pregnant - I just fecking hate the last trimester with all my heart. Inability to sleep, peeing all through the night, raging heartburn/indigestion, and not even a wee drinky to make everything that little bit out of focus. Skin tags creeping up in the weirdest places and catching on bra straps etc. Will I ever be me again? Some women feel sexy pregnant - which astounds me. I am so far from feeling even remotely attractive that I can't remember what it was like to feel good about myself let along enter the box of 'hot.' Sweaty and out of breath, swinging and waddling and unable to bend - aint hot. My chest is so out there that I cease to look normal - if a freak show circus rolled into town I'd lay money on them paying me top dollar for a flash.
Sometimes I look at my old bras and feel nostalgic. Will I ever use them again? Or will I sell a kidney in order to fund a breast reduction/tummy tuck? I jest of course - who wants more surgery after a C section (Dec 6th - booked, hurrah) but I wake from dreams of my old self and remember with a thud that I am no longer that shape - then try to somehow hurl myself out of bed, all too aware of an imminent black eye if I move too quickly. Please forgive me for this pity fest but 3 months ago a colleague came for lunch and came back to work declaring to all 'CM is sooooo pregnant - it's all tits and bump everywhere!' That was 3 months ago. I am a world away from the tiny bump and blossoming breasts of those days. Right now people cross the street to try and squeeze past me.
Oh well. 9 weeks and counting. Who knew that the best part of your day could be the one when you took off your bra and let it all hang out? Excuse me, I've gotta run and let a saucer sized nipple escape.
Oh yes, between the mountainous breasts runs an itchy irritated river of discontent - that no amount of talc or sudocream or moisturiser or anything can help. It is like they hate one another - the sweaty space they try to fit won't let them breathe so they are staging their own silent protest. I can't bear to look at myself naked in a mirror. Don't even get me started on my ever changing nipples. Too much info? Sorry - but try living with them. I feel utterly removed from myself - some overblown porno queen whose surgeon didn't know when to say 'no.'
Then there is the butt pain. Who knew that waddling would hurt so much in the muscles in your ass? Throw in some piles for good measure and basically my pregnancy is just one royal pain in the arse. I am of course grateful to be pregnant - I just fecking hate the last trimester with all my heart. Inability to sleep, peeing all through the night, raging heartburn/indigestion, and not even a wee drinky to make everything that little bit out of focus. Skin tags creeping up in the weirdest places and catching on bra straps etc. Will I ever be me again? Some women feel sexy pregnant - which astounds me. I am so far from feeling even remotely attractive that I can't remember what it was like to feel good about myself let along enter the box of 'hot.' Sweaty and out of breath, swinging and waddling and unable to bend - aint hot. My chest is so out there that I cease to look normal - if a freak show circus rolled into town I'd lay money on them paying me top dollar for a flash.
Sometimes I look at my old bras and feel nostalgic. Will I ever use them again? Or will I sell a kidney in order to fund a breast reduction/tummy tuck? I jest of course - who wants more surgery after a C section (Dec 6th - booked, hurrah) but I wake from dreams of my old self and remember with a thud that I am no longer that shape - then try to somehow hurl myself out of bed, all too aware of an imminent black eye if I move too quickly. Please forgive me for this pity fest but 3 months ago a colleague came for lunch and came back to work declaring to all 'CM is sooooo pregnant - it's all tits and bump everywhere!' That was 3 months ago. I am a world away from the tiny bump and blossoming breasts of those days. Right now people cross the street to try and squeeze past me.
Oh well. 9 weeks and counting. Who knew that the best part of your day could be the one when you took off your bra and let it all hang out? Excuse me, I've gotta run and let a saucer sized nipple escape.
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