Right, so first, this is the best pregnancy book I’ve found out there. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking the same thing I did when I heard the name. Girlfriend? Girlfriend, pul-leeeze. But seriously, this book rocks my socks. Sure, I disagree with parts of it (the doctor over midwife section in particular – but to be fair, the book is geared towards Americans and I don’t know what their midwife and OB situation is like…here in Canada, where finding a decent OB who will do more than poke you for five minutes is like trying to find sense in Catholicism, a midwife is a clear and obvious choice). But overall, this book is the first book I’ve come across that a) did not try to convince me that pregnancy is some glorious, glowing journey (it is NOT) and that b) gave me the straight and dirty facts about what this crazy kid is doing/will do to my body. It is the only book I’ve come across where the author actually reminds us preggos (sensibly, I think) that there is no award offered to those who manage to deliver their children naturally and not to those who choose the epidural/C-section root (thus justifying my answer when people ask how I plan to deliver – which, btw, is none of their business – and I respond with ‘Drug-free and natural but I’m keeping my options open’. I mean, I’ve never done this before…how the hell do I know how I’ll feel about things until I get there?). It is also one of the only books I’ve come across that acknowledges the importance of breast-feeding while pointing out that you should do what makes both you and baby comfortable (my poor sister could have used this advice – she spent ages trying to breastfeed a child who simply would not do it, convinced that she was a terrible person for not being able to fulfill what is considered by so many to be the most basic of human responsibilities. Turns out little FJ had a funny tongue that made breast-feeding impossible…like her dad, in fact. But that didn’t stop Lady Heather from feeling just plain awful and it didn’t stop the breast-feeding police from making her feel worse. Sigh.). Finally, instead of beating around the literal and metaphorical bush, it is the only book that gives real (albeit disturbing) answers about sex and pregnancy. Oh, other books try certainly but it all comes across as flowery lovefest crap. I have no time for these books. Humourously written and well-thought out, this books is tops according to Ezmy.
Second on my list of things to say before I go to bed (which I should have done ages ago) is holy hellfire, pregnancy is some tough shit. Tough, daily-guessing game, shit. Will I wake up feeling fat tomorrow? No idea. Will my skin look like Christy Turlington’s or like 12 year old Ezmy’s? Could go either way. Will I wake up wanting to kill everybody? Couldn’t tell you. And even if I could tell you, the answer would be useless because 20 seconds later, everything could change. I might have been grumbling about yet another new hole in a once great pair of tights one minute, but the next I could be crying over a Folgers commercial. Or laughing hysterically at the cat. Or devouring with incredible and frightening speed, an entire Terry’s chocolate orange. Who knows! Sounds exciting doesn’t it? I’ll bet Andrew sure thinks so.
The thing is, I’m not surprised by any of this really. I’ve been around plenty of pregnant women, I know a fair bit about the hormonal changes and what they mean, and I’m pretty on top of, and indeed comfortable with the fact that pregnancy is just fucking weird. But even if you’re ready for a crazy ride, the ride is still crazy. Today’s fun crazy event? Everything I touched made me itch all over. Pens, files, my pjs, Andrew – everything. Now, if I had been at home this probably would have just been mildly irritating. But since I was at work, and since scratching yourself within an inch of your own life is considered by some to be inappropriate and indeed unhealthy behaviour, I had to settle with frequent trips to the loo where I had sneaky scratch fests. Sexy, no? Ugh.
This brings me to my last comment before I attempt to go to bed and NOT dream about leaving Ewan on a bus: I’m going to have to tell work soon. I’m a tiny person, who up until now hasn’t gained a tonne of weight but this is changing daily. Case in point – I’ve gone up three bra sizes in the last month. People are going to start asking questions. How to tell them…well that’s a pickle. Particularly since they hired me to help cover off other mat. leave ladies who are leaving, well, when I would have to leave. Awkward? Yes. Sigh.