Anne TootillTo Be or Not to Be a Mother - Part Two
December 19th 2006 15:50
I just started my ninth month and guess what? I’ve been given my walking papers. Yup, I’ve been released from captivity. My confinement has ended. I’m free to roam the earth again with all the other upright homo sapiens. Which, most people are probably thinking, is no big deal. But if you’d been stuck in bed, lying on your back or your side 23/7 - remember I did get 40 minutes/day of vertical living - for nearly six months straight, I bet you too would be viewing standing and walking with new found joy.
Unfortunately, I was still drooling like Hooch in that Tom Hanks movie Turner and Hooch, carrying around that spit pot to drop the drool into every few minutes. But you know what? Even though my bangs were hanging past my mouth and the layers in my hair had somehow managed to grow-out lopsided (I hadn’t been allowed to get out of bed for a trim) and my mouth and cheeks were chapped, cut, bleeding and swollen from all the drooling and I was retaining a huge amount of water because I was so thirsty that I had been drinking a gallon of water a day and I no longer looked remotely like that pretty girl hanging on the living room wall (family photo from my P.P.W.S.C. – pre-pregnancy with second child – days) I was still thrilled to be up and moving around.
Of course moving is all relative. And since I’d been on bed rest for an eternity, my legs weren’t quite cooperating like they used to. For instance at one point I really needed to get to the bathroom (remember all that water I was drinking) but even though my head said move fast, run like the wind, my legs said slowly we go, step by step, inch by inch. It was the oddest feeling. As if my legs and my brain weren’t in sync.
But even that couldn’t put a damper on my joy. And the next time nature called? I answered on the first ring.
Unfortunately, I was still drooling like Hooch in that Tom Hanks movie Turner and Hooch, carrying around that spit pot to drop the drool into every few minutes. But you know what? Even though my bangs were hanging past my mouth and the layers in my hair had somehow managed to grow-out lopsided (I hadn’t been allowed to get out of bed for a trim) and my mouth and cheeks were chapped, cut, bleeding and swollen from all the drooling and I was retaining a huge amount of water because I was so thirsty that I had been drinking a gallon of water a day and I no longer looked remotely like that pretty girl hanging on the living room wall (family photo from my P.P.W.S.C. – pre-pregnancy with second child – days) I was still thrilled to be up and moving around.
Of course moving is all relative. And since I’d been on bed rest for an eternity, my legs weren’t quite cooperating like they used to. For instance at one point I really needed to get to the bathroom (remember all that water I was drinking) but even though my head said move fast, run like the wind, my legs said slowly we go, step by step, inch by inch. It was the oddest feeling. As if my legs and my brain weren’t in sync.
But even that couldn’t put a damper on my joy. And the next time nature called? I answered on the first ring.
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