I work in a large company in the city filled with lots of fabulous, professional, working women. Being surrounded by so many women, there are plenty of them that have had kids, or who are pregnant at the moment. One such lady and I were having a chat yesterday morning as we seem to have our Ob appointments at the same time (I have mine today, she had hers earlier in the week – but we are 4 weeks apart – me being ahead of her). Anyway, I knew that I would have the internal swab part of my visits coming up (couldn’t quite remember when but knew it would be soon enough) and she confirmed this for me. She then discussed her ‘maintenance plan’ for said internal and how she was getting waxed and preppped for the occasion. Someone else then mentioned the importance of landscaping (or should I say ladyscaping?) for such appointments, and I smiled and nodded whilst on the inside thinking “I don’t even know what is going on down there. I can’t see it anymore, and what I think I caught a glimpse in the 2 spare seconds I had on my way out of the shower to getting Curious George back on (and quickly), things didn’t look good”. I certainly can’t remember even thinking about it with Daisy and am almost certain that things were left a little, shall we say, overgrown? But with all the opinions, and conversations and agreement, by the end of the conversation I had myself booked in for a waxing at 1pm!
All went well at the beginning. My little Chinese waxing lady was a firecracker and told me that I looked great with only 8 weeks to go (thanks!) and that I hadn’t put on much weight (thanks!) except it did look like the weight I had put on had gone to my hips and that it would be unlikely to budge post baby (gee thanks). The warm wax went on and I knew that there was no turning back. I hadn’t been waxed for a while (given current duffed situation and prior to that being able to take care of matters myself) so she told me the hairs were ‘good and strong’ (no thank you don’t say that. What does that mean? I think that’s a bad thing. That’s a bad thing right? Don’t say that!). And then the assault began. Sweet baby cheeses the pain! I was literally gripping onto the sides of the table and she ripped and stripped me (almost shockingly) clean! All the while chatting about my arse and hips and babies and the like. And telling me ‘Yes, very strong hair”. AND then she goes on to tell me that next time I see her ‘we take it ALL off!’. I questioned her about this, and again, she tells me ‘yes, we take it ALL off for the baby to help with the stitches”. The pain that this one sentence had loaded in it almost bought a tear to my eyes. Really? Really? REALLY? Who would benefit from this? Who? WHO?
I limped out of there, back to my desk to report to other pregnant women that the business had been taken care of. I tweeted about it, I in appropriately mentioned it on facebook (who really wants to know this? Certainly not my aunt or cousin in law! Is nothing sacred anymore?) and to anyone who would listen about the pain. The pain!
I will determine the next appointment a little closer to the due date. And I think if I was thinking about how to get into an early labour I now have the answer.
Talk about trying to keep up with the cool kids at school…when will I ever learn?