Friday, 2 October 2015

THANK GOD SHE'S GOT HER DEAR MOTHER TO CONFIDE IN

MY BABY AND HER BABY-TO-BE
That wee bump is getting bigger by the day! 
(Er, but of course, it will slip out easily 
and painlessly when the time comes. 
As babies always do...)


*Monday throwback: Remember when Piggly Wiggly was on the inside of her mommy?

I took this picture of my beautiful second-born daughter's pregnant belly at a party at my firstborn's home on Sunday. (The firstborn who flatly refuses to allow me to show her face or the faces of anyone in her adorable little family on this blog due to the fact that I can't be trusted not to embarrass her. Or Photoshop her. Or both.)

As you can see, my second-born is looking very babyfull these days. Her unborn child regularly treats her to backaches, nausea, roundhouse kicks to the bladder and other things that, when you think of it, are a piece of cake compared to what's coming.
Not that I would ever tell her anything about any of that. Even if she asks. Which she does.

"I'm scared," she confided the other day. "I want you to be there for the delivery. It scares me."
"Oh pish tosh," I said. "It'll be fine." (Thanks to the drugs the nurses will give you because your screaming annoys them.)
"I'm afraid I'll tear," she said.
"Rubbish!" I said. "We're made for this!" (Although, come to think of it, the babies are getting bigger every year and the vaginas really don't seem to be keeping pace.) 
"But I don't want an episiotomy," she continued. "Even the word makes me queasy."
"You don't have to have one if you don't want one," I assured her, patting her hand. "It's your body!" (Even though it will feel more like the personal playground of Satan himself at the crucial moment.)

"Thanks Mom," my daughter said. "I'm glad I can talk to you about this."
"Anytime," I told her. "After all, it's not like I've ever told you anything but the truth about everything. Except your father. Because quite frankly, I've never really been sure who that was but it might have been the Mennonite. It was either the Mennonite or ... hey, where'd my drink go? I had a drink a minute ago."
"Mom?"
"Yes?"

"It might be best if you don't come into the delivery room after all."
"Oh THANK GOD! That shit scares the crap out of me!"