Monday, June 9, 2008


So 24 weeks, and it's been a rocky ride back to British soil. Not only has the usual jet leg been compounded by pregnancy, the lead up to the flight was also marred by hormones. The fact is fatigue during and post pregnancy magnifies everything, crafting molehills into mountains. Case in point. On the drive to the airport Mister Green and I had "words", the result of which led to us missing our turnoff on our way to meet my parents for a goodbye-for-now meal at our favourite Italian. In the end, although we were only 20 minutes late and my parents were magnanimous about the whole thing, I burst into tears which seasoned my linguine and did not let up for the duration of the meal... I don't know about you but sobbing like a tantruming toddler in the middle of a packed restau has to rate in the top ten most humiliating experiences (along with the skirt tucked into the underwear thing, though, granted, that has never happened to me -- yet).

Digressing. With reflection, I can see the error of my ways. Back at work after several sleepless nights, I had to call in sick and at last grant myself some much needed slack. After all, a relaxed mother is a relaxed baby according to that frightfully posh matron to the Royals, Betty Parsons. It must happen in all pregnancies, to every woman at some stage in her progression: she ploughs on full steam ahead until, inevitably, her body gives her a stark reminder of the task at hand, e.g. making a little miracle is no small feat! We would do with being gentler, more forgiving on ourselves and on each other, and not just in pregnancy either.

Digressing again... To other women. To each other. The reaction of strangers when commuting to the City this past week caught me off guard now that I have, for want of a better expression, officially "popped". From disdain to sheer contempt -- these are the looks I've been fending off from women, old and young. Where is the empathy? Where is the sisterhood, I beg you. Why such sour lemons? Is it fertility envy? A deep-seated hate of fatness in all its forms? Theories are welcome...

Men are another story, of course. A strange breed they are (admittedly I'll have to get used to this if I am to raise one myself). Their reactions vary from complete oblivion to outright leering with seemingly no in-between. Until now I never understood the pregnant form was so sexually charged, so desirable. The media wouldn't dare broadcast the fact, but it's true. There is no state more feminine, more exalted than that of the heavily expectant woman, so it only figures that she to cannot escape the lusty gaze. Of course this is reassuring in a way. You don't want to cease being attractive to your partner because that would go against nature, but by the same token neither do you expect to be visually groped by Tom, Dick & Co. Maybe I'm being naive. I'll bet there are entire syndicates and URLs devoted to this particular fetish. Mr Green helpfully supplies the term MILF. In which case, darling son, I'm sorry you had to read about your "old lady" being sexualised before you were even down the hatch. How gross and inconsiderate of me to even bring it up. So sorry...

1 comment:

  1. I think women are looking at you with contempt because you look like a Supermodel even when you're pregnant, hormonal, hemroidal and magnified.

    Just pee on their shoes, or failing that, get a maternity MILF t-shirt.

    Dave Lemoyre