Monday, May 16, 2005

"Show me yours, I'll show you mine!"

While discussing childbirth my friend said, “If I had the pain with the humiliation, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But since I could register everything going on, I was twice as humiliated.”
I’ve never given birth so I couldn’t tell you but when I was a coach to my friend for her first pregnancy, humiliation was not a thought in her brain. I saw every part imaginable and that was before we arrived at the hospital.
It all began when her breasts sprouted like onions. “Check these out!”
pg:Holy crap! Put those away. We’re in a small changing room.
“In Peas in a Pod. Trust me, no one here is going to care if I’m flying free.”

Leave it to the only non-pregnant woman in the store to hide from the site of boobs. Now I'm not a prude. I've just never seen the bits and pieces my friend revealed to me throughout her pregnancy in the light I had seen them. Talk about catching a person off guard. I had no idea flesh could turn that color.

Of course this topic came up because our co-worker’s wife finally popped and gave birth to two healthy baby girls. 5.5 lbs and 5 lbs. At the hospital she called several friends for advice. Not just any advice mind you. She needed the real advice. Apparently, sponge baths, bowel movements, hospital gowns and bathing rituals are the topics not discussed in any pregnancy book. The mommies in the office wanted the author of The Girlfriend’s Guide Series to include these topics. There I was with another childless co-worker, listening to the mommies talk about the advice no one tells you about childbirth. Now I know why they are never mentioned.
If they mentioned what happens to your body and what happens to your dignity, the human race would certainly dwindle in size.
Flabby asses, sterile rooms and allergic reactions to anesthesia were all heated topics. Apparently, you may be anesthetized but your pride and dignity are fully cognizant of the fact that your hospital gown is hiked up to your boobs and its mighty cold in a sterile room.
Oh, and apparently, your husband could probably charge admission and rake in a down payment for a house from all the residents and physicians that take a gander at your bits.