Friday, May 14, 2010

Day 222

All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small … and not a deep fried v-jay-jay in sight.

After tackling the topic that no one talks about yesterday I’m at a loss as to where to head today. Where else can you go once you’ve exposed yourself (spread eagle) to the world. By now you may be wondering if I have any dignity. Well no actually. That all went out the window the first time I gave birth.

Let’s talk about that! I mean, only half the problem with the less that firm lady pouch is age related, the other half is definitely birthing related. Whose brilliant idea was it to push watermelons out our fanny anyway? Is this God’s idea of seeking revenge for Eve eating the stupid apple? Sorry about the apple God. Geez. But why a watermelon? You could have stuck with the apple …

Most of us Mummy’s have some pretty horrendous birthing recounts, I mean, even the most straight forward birth could be regarded as a horror flick. Let me share the beauty and magic of Miss Tahlia’s birth.

I was overdue and over it. I was hugely fat (having put on 23 kgs) and had no ankles, knees or neck. Everything had submerged into a tub of fluid. So Derek decided I needed to go for a drive on a bouncy road to bring on the labour. That didn’t work. He also suggested sex. That didn’t work either. So anyway, it was a Friday arvo and Derek had come home from work early. We decided to order pizza and watch Four Weddings and a Funeral in bed - because I was too big to sit comfortably on the lounge. Part way through the movie (and long before the pizza had arrived) my waters broke. I didn’t know it though … I mean …. It was my first baby. I just said “Derek, I think I wet the bed”. He just said “um, let’s hope that pizza gets here soon, it’s gonna be a long night”. Well, he had had a baby before so knew the drill. Then the pain started. It was the bowel pain my body was throwing at me to clean out my system before the birthing process, but I thought it was labour pain and was throwing little statements around like “this isn’t so bad”. Yeah right. Famous last words. The pizza arrived at about the same time my actual contractions started. I stuffed pizza in my gob as I squatted next to the bed, leaning over the mattress on my elbows all the time screaming between bites. (What can I say, I love pizza!) Once my feeding frenzy was over we went to the hospital. My contractions were back to back. No pause, just rolling into each other. Eight hours later they were still back to back and I was only 2 cms dilated. You have got to be fucking kidding me!!! That’s when I put my hand up for the epidural. Derek went off for a sleep. I just sat back and relaxed for a while. Hours later I was told to try pushing because all my bits and pieces were at the right level of readiness. So we woke up Derek and the pushing began. At around 15 hours after my waters had broken Tahlia went into distress and a frantic call was made to a doctor. He came racing in with the ridiculous looking sucky gizmo (the mighty vac) which shouldn’t be allowed in your home let alone up your who who. It failed. And that’s when I saw the scissors. I screamed “NOOOOOOOOOO” and then something along the lines of “DON’TYOUFUCKINGCOMENEARMEWITHTHOSE!!!”, but it was too late …snip snip snip (did I mention the epidural had worn off?), the forceps went in, and Tahlia emerged. I was stitched up like an Amish quilt and it was over. I vowed never to fall pregnant again.

And that dear readers is where the southern flight of the v-jay-jay probably began …


  1. Oh my god, I am officially gobsmacked. I can understand your vow not to have any more children.

  2. Oh my love. I cannot believe I have not read this before. Me and my who-ha are squirming for you in sympathy. Fucking hell.....


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