WHEN preparing yourself for motherhood, it's easy to let little things slide.
As my pins are tanned at the moment my little leg stragglers are
running riot - I guess it's a case of they're not so noticeable, muddled
in with my tanned legs. Anyway, waxing is definitely out of the equation, what with my pathetic pain threshold and all that.
(Very early on in my pregnancy I opted for a leg wax at Strip Bar St Pauls. I writhed about, embarassingly, for most of the treatment,
grimacing and apologising profusely for my lack of decorum, and pain
threshold.
It was excellent preparation for impending motherhood though, as
my uncontrolled lamaze method littered with profanities, ensured a torturous
treatment for both therapist and myself - perfect practice for the poor
old midwives, god help 'em).
So, innocently, this weekend I popped in the shower and stretched out
for the shaver, bending down to attack the old short and curlies and I realised, my 6
month bump was obstructing the view.
In my frustration I tried to lift the bump (not easy when it's rock
hard, believe me), but could only get the slightest vision of the
overgrown side view....this was NOT pretty, and equally very
frustrating.
Why should so many mummas suffer in a hair induced agony? Why are
we not warned of the adverse effects of overgrown bushes obscured by
bumps?! I was increasingly shocked by this horrific discovery - in amongst
all the fluffy (scuse the pun) stories of lustrous locks and glowing skin - no-one told
me about this dramatic occurance.
At this point I wholeheartedly empathised with weight loss case
studies, describing their sheets of leftover skin aka the 'gunt' (I'll fill you
in on this one another day) obstructing THEIR imperative views. I realised that this was the pivotal point where myself and the razor (and bump) had come to blows.
So here I was, armed with my shaving arsenal (shaving cream and
Venus razor), stuck in the shower with no means of removing the fuzz,
aside from taking a shot in the dark and end up resembling a Sphynx cat.
Today was the day I lost sight of my lady garden, and there
was NO way I was leaving it to grow wantonly until D Day (delivery day),
and certainly not opting for a wax after the aforementioned dramas.
Would I ever have that neat 'landing strip', or was it a case of all or nothing?
So what did I do? Yup. I used all my womanly wiles to muster up
the courage to ask (NB: coerce) Daddy-to-be into shaving it off - a daunting
feat for both parties involved, in bestowing him with the trust to create a
muff masterpiece I'd never actually see.
The poor lamb was even more bemused as he has no idea why its such a
drama to shave the thing off, when lets be honest - who sees it? Not
even him these days!
