Saturday, 11 July 2009
While my midwife chases her unpasteurized cheese with a bottle of red and laughs at my expense.
I’ve been given the all clear from the mid-wife to use home remedies to help this baby to come sooner rather than later as she is happy that the kid is of a healthy weight and ready to meet us. She also mentioned that we wouldn’t want this baby to go too far past her due date (the 16th) as for the sake of my poor vagina we don’t want the baby’s weight to get too healthy.
There are a plethora of home remedies that are suggested by doctors and midwives to help encourage labour. The more I speak with other mothers, the more I believe these remedies are the last cruel joke from the maternal health-care providers of the world and that the kid will come out when she’s good and ready.
Go for a long walk, they say. I am not only hot and sweaty just from bending down to make sure my feet haven’t grown barnacles they are so neglected, but I am starting to become a phenomenon in my town. People waiting to see if the whale will emerge for her walk. Boom bada boom bada as I waddle redfaced while people stare and whisper to each other when I shake the ground beneath them.
Eat Spicy food, they say. Because the searing heartburn isn’t enough. The feeling that burning coals have lodged in your throat should have chili flakes and cayenne pepper thrown on it to stoke the flames.
Drench yourself in Clary Sage oil, they say. Just when you’re clutching at straws to try and maintain an ounce of femininity, trying to combat the depression that ensues with a massive stomach, huge swollen feet, and pregnancy farts, this is when they ask you to massage yourself with what is essentially eau de MAN.
So now that you’re covered in hormonal sweat and your face is a lovely shade of scarlet from your walk. Now that your indigestion is at it’s peak, with the stench of last night’s curry filling your mouth and your ass on fire. Now that you smell like a fucking lumberjack.
Go have sex, they say.