I have been pregnant since the dawn of time.
At least that’s how it feels. Although I technically have 5 weeks to go (how this is even possible I don’t even know) I think I’ll start bouncing on the ball and eating spicy food and all that baby eviction stuff in a couple of weeks. And I as get closer to the big day, my doctor has been giving me all sorts of instructions.
Instructions that I will likely ignore.
You’re probably wondering what the hell? Why would you deliberately go against medical advice? Well, it’s not like I have cancer or heart disease or something. I’m having a fucking baby. And second of all, some of the instructions are more mortifying than than the thought of what could happen if I don’t heed her advice.
1. Don’t eat sweets. At all. Never, ever.
How about you just stop talking right there? We have this really nice, honest doctor patient relationship and then you go ahead and say something like this. To a pregnant lady. Who, in your very own words has “managed to not gain very much weight” during this pregnancy.
What the fuck is wrong with her? As if I won’t try everything on the Dairy Queen menu at least once before I pop this Little Buddy out. And all of you granola munching, vegan bean eating women out there in the peanut gallery can keep your nutrition advice to yourself too. Because I don’t care. I’m eating all the things and taking my vitamins and trying to
waddle walk around as much as I can. And if that calls for a little indulgence, then it does. Christ.
2. Perineum massage
Excuse me? What in God’s name is a perineum? Do you think I’ll be able to reach it if I don’t know what it is? Do I need to study an anatomy textbook? Wait….do you mean the “t’aint”? As is, t’aint the asshole but t’aint the vag?
Let me put this into perspective. I have not seen my crotch since about 24 weeks. That’s almost 3 months ago. I’m not even positive that it still exists. So I can’t see my vag, I certainly can’t reach my vag, and the t’aint is apparently even further back than that. How much massaging does she expect to get done in this situation?
Furthermore, it sounds like some dirty pregnancy only sex trick. And I’m not feeling it. Literally.
Lastly, I forgot to even ask why she wants me to do this. My perineum shall remain a lonely mystery to me, unmassaged and unloved. I’m not doing it, the end.
3. Nipple shields
Do these come with nipple swords, too? Or do we just expect pregnant and breastfeeding nipples to be so large and in charge that they become a weapon in themselves? Just like the fembots in Austin Powers.
No, these things are supposed to help my nipples stand out for my baby to latch on to. I’m supposed to walk around with them under my shirt all day. Maybe I would, if I was into the porn star look.
But listen, I work with children. I can’t walk around with giant nipples boners all day long. Seriously. I understand the purpose here, but come on. The whole pregnancy and delivery thing strips a woman enough of her dignity and privacy and modesty and just about everything else as it is. Can’t we just leave my tits alone? At least until after the baby is born?
4. Go to the hospital as soon as you have regular contractions
NO fucking way. I will wait until the last minute, in time for them to catch. The only reason I am having my baby in a hospital is because I am too chicken shit of the “what ifs” to do it at home. But I don’t want to labour there. I don’t want a bazillion nurses checking my “progress” down there every hour. Why? Because I don’t need to hear that I’m only at 5cm, and that a pitocin drip would help it move along faster. Or have someone try to talk me into countless other interventions. I just want all hands out of my vagina until the baby is coming down the mountain. And I’m pretty sure we’ll all know when that is, because my vocabulary will start to deteriorate significantly.
The truth is, it probably won’t mattter anyway. Destroyer came out lickety split, and I suspect Buddy will too. But really, I trust my body to do what it needs to do. It certainly did last time.
So, I will wait things out at home as long as possible, and try to keep my bits to myself.
So kids, on this blissful Monday morning, there you have it.
Stubborn me and my hidden perineum need another cup of coffee.