Anne TootillTo Be or Not to Be a Mother -Part One
September 18th 2006 02:36
Pregnant women are cute. Even if they go hog wild and gain too much weight if she’s pregnant she’s cute. Not to be immodest but I was so cute. I was a really cute pregnant woman. Cute as a button that’s what I was. Fat-free - vomiting nonstop for four months will do that to you - with a small but very visible protruding bulge up-front. Yup, the world could see that I was with child. And people love pregnant women. They smile when they see one. Sometimes they even rub their bellies. It’s like bunnies. Did you ever hear of killer bunnies? Of course not. Bunnies are all sugar and spice and everything nice. You can’t help but feel good when they’re around. And pregnant women make you feel the same. What’s not to like about a women with a bun in the oven? She’s doing exactly what’s she’s supposed to. Right? She’s doing what she was built for, what she was intended to do. Which is to procreate. Right? Men especially feel this way. That’s why they put pregnant women on a pedestal. They treat them with respect and care and kindness. Of course to these men those women also lose their sexual attractiveness, but then it’s all very Oedipal.
I had waited a lifetime to get it. My pedestal seat. Where I could sit back for nine months and be treated like a queen. O.K. so maybe I lost the first four months of pampering due to events beyond my control (severe morning sickness) but I was ready to claim my birth rights for the next five months. As far as I was concerned from there on in it was going to be smooth sailing. I couldn’t wait to take that cute pregnant body out for a spin and watch the magic unfold. Look at the adorable mother-to-be they would exclaim and sigh happily. People smiling at me. People being helpful. People being kind. All for no other reason than because I was knocked up. Ah, everyone knew the perks of being pregnant. Now it was my time to shine.
And I was close to peri-natal Niravana. So close I tell you and then it happened. I began to drool. I drooled and I drooled and I drooled. I drooled so much that I had to use a small kidney-shaped hospital dish (for the vomiting pregnant woman on the go) as a spit pot. I drooled so much that I went through seven boxes of 150 count tissues a week. Luckily the doctors had seen this before. Unluckily, for me that is, it was very rare. Hyper-salivation they called it, but to me it was the drool that never ends, it just went on and on my friends…And I’m talking 24/7. Did I mention the worst part? Yup, there was something worse than leaking into a spit pot while I was awake. Trying not to drown into my saliva-soaked pillows every night when I slept. Not to worry, I devised a method to dam the river. A wad of tissues into each corner of my mouth held the flow at bay. Although this did freak out my doctor who constantly worried that I would swallow the tissues in my sleep and choke to death. You know at that point if the Grim Reaper had come knocking at least I might have had some company, because cute pregnant woman I was not.
I had waited a lifetime to get it. My pedestal seat. Where I could sit back for nine months and be treated like a queen. O.K. so maybe I lost the first four months of pampering due to events beyond my control (severe morning sickness) but I was ready to claim my birth rights for the next five months. As far as I was concerned from there on in it was going to be smooth sailing. I couldn’t wait to take that cute pregnant body out for a spin and watch the magic unfold. Look at the adorable mother-to-be they would exclaim and sigh happily. People smiling at me. People being helpful. People being kind. All for no other reason than because I was knocked up. Ah, everyone knew the perks of being pregnant. Now it was my time to shine.
And I was close to peri-natal Niravana. So close I tell you and then it happened. I began to drool. I drooled and I drooled and I drooled. I drooled so much that I had to use a small kidney-shaped hospital dish (for the vomiting pregnant woman on the go) as a spit pot. I drooled so much that I went through seven boxes of 150 count tissues a week. Luckily the doctors had seen this before. Unluckily, for me that is, it was very rare. Hyper-salivation they called it, but to me it was the drool that never ends, it just went on and on my friends…And I’m talking 24/7. Did I mention the worst part? Yup, there was something worse than leaking into a spit pot while I was awake. Trying not to drown into my saliva-soaked pillows every night when I slept. Not to worry, I devised a method to dam the river. A wad of tissues into each corner of my mouth held the flow at bay. Although this did freak out my doctor who constantly worried that I would swallow the tissues in my sleep and choke to death. You know at that point if the Grim Reaper had come knocking at least I might have had some company, because cute pregnant woman I was not.
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Comment by Johanna
PCOS Mum