I Don’t Jog

Woke up this morning to Facebook messages from Harriet (My Ponty chick friend, who is also having a baby shortly, and who…with our powers combined….were once mistaken for The Pussycat Dolls at a childrens sports day. Infact, we also drank approx 20 vodka jelly shots each in mourning for the death of Michael Jackson, chatted about boy virgins in a famous Pontefract strip club and also wee’d in a doorstep together…on a crisp packet..holding hands.)

Anyway yeah…Harriet can no longer cross her legs in fear that she may be squashing her baby. (Aww.) We never could learn the art of ‘leg crossing.’ I mean, we’re smart girls. However we must be fools for the simple act of adoration. Who could blame us really? Who doesn’t want to be adored? I’m in a stage where i can’t even move in fear that my baby will just fall out of me, like ‘Win a Baby’  slot machine. Harriet’s in the ‘Due on the March 25th.. can we hurry this along‘ stage. Neither stages are fun and all because i’m not a Kitty cat who wallows merrily in the pool of ‘Wait.’ (When i look behind me and if i want action. I want to beable to see dancing boys, Kylie, Vegas and confetti showers, all pining for my ‘Dear Lord’ attention in that good old fashion of desperation. Not….walls, with an empty moses basket, rocking… to the merry tunes of ‘no baby yet.’)

Okay, so my body is highly stimulated by anything. It’s my mind it’s a powerful and frutiful blob of ‘thing.’ If i eat a pineapple, I immediately get flung into a disco contraction period of ‘ouchie.’ If i even look at a lavender bath…my belly baby, decides to waddle her way out my vagina. I mean, last night Pete (aka ‘Loverboy‘) massaged my whole entire back with a bag of hot wheat, cleverly disguised as black & white leopard print…and within 4 seconds after the final ‘there you go honey..all done,’ i experienced the most deliciously uncomfortable contractions known to mankind…and whilst watching people at chicken on my telly! I’m not even gonna bother trying the ‘sex’ thing. However, saying that Pete doesn’t even WANT to try the sex thing. (Eww..losing my touch much.) I think the phrase he used whilst i was emailing and eating a ice-cream Mars bar was..‘You’re really not mobile enough for slaggy sex.’ HAHA. I enjoy how it’s really slaggy sex or nothing…with Pete. Romance is alive.

Anyway, after Harriet suggested that i attempt to ‘hold in’ my baby. [Commit to shocked faced here.] I can’t ‘hold in’…I mean, i had my hair did and nails ‘hot pinked’ yesterday…i’m ready for my bit of labour. (Ooh that reminds me..i need to get my pedicure today!) My little ‘Glamour Puss’ is half hanging out, i’m sure. There’s no moonwalk backwards now. I’m being a mum and i’m doing it…by the weekend. 🙂

Now, with me being the Queen of all answers. I decided that Harriet should speed her birth up. (I enjoy how we order suggestions at one another.) Therefore i suggested a ‘jog’ and a few ‘squats,’ to get her juices a flowing.

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