Pretzels, Farts, and Perfect Breasts


Gas. And wind. That’s what pregnancy is all about. Plus, you kind of faint a bit if you try and bend too much. Believe me, I tried to paint my toenails and my lungs had serious words about it. It’s actually a cacophony of noise inside my body. I have no idea how the precious little one gets any rest. It goes something like this:

Lungs: Back off toes.
Toes: But we’re ugly!
Lungs: It’s about to get real ugly if you don’t back the fuck off and stop trying to get everyone to bend down.
Brain: Huh? Does anyone need any… zzz…
Toes: Brain! Wake up! Lungs have gone feral again!
Stomach: Urgh, I hurt, I’m going to barf. Toes, get up, I need pretzels, stat.
Toes: Can’t, we’re being held hostage!
Stomach: Toughen up, princesses and get me to the kitchen.
Nose: I need a tissue. I’m miserable.
Vagina: Hey guys? Guys? Do any of you remember what I look like? … I miss myself, I’m bored.
Nose: Holy CRAP! What is that smell?
Stomach: I’m going to barf!!
Anus: Oops. My bad.
Nose: Jesus!
Anus: I said oops, give me a break. Blame brain, she decided to have curry again when all stomach wanted was crackers.
Uterine Muscles: Owwwww! It hurts! Oh the humanity, I’m melting!
Lungs: How friggin dramatic do you have to be UM? You’re not melting, you’re stretching. Deal.
Brain: Who’s UM? ….Zzz…
Ankles: Go back to sleep brain, but before you do could you organise that we lie with our legs up the wall? I’ve puffed up again.
Lungs: Fuck off ankles, no-body cares.
Ankles: Talk about Mr. Grumpy. Jeez.
Head: I hurt. Is Panadol seriously all I can have?
Back: I don’t wanna hear it, Head, not til you’ve walked a mile in my shoes.
Toes: No-one is walking anywhere until someone paints us, I’m not kidding.
Nose: OH MY GOD!!!
Anus: Sorry! My bad again.
Stomach: Yeah, go Bummy! That feels better! Woo hoo!
Boobs: Seriously, how can you all not be looking at us?! Look at us! We’re MAGNIFICENT!! Tra-la-la-la-laaa! [bounce bounce]
All: Oh WOW!!!! Did you feel THAT?! She kicked! The baby kicked!!
Toes: Boobs, do that again, bounce around some more! She liked it!!

And right at that moment, when you’re on the couch and the entire living room smells like fart and you’re shaking your perfect, big jugs around to try and feel the baby kick again, your husband walks in to see if you need anything. By now he’s acknowledged that things will never, ever be the same again, so you just smile and nod and ask for food and he stares at your boobs and goes off to the kitchen in search of pretzels.



Filed under Baby, Boobs, Bums, Family, Food, Health, Humour, IVF, Motherhood, Poetry, Pregnancy, Women/Feminist, Writing

3 responses to “Pretzels, Farts, and Perfect Breasts

  1. Chiq

    Hilarious. Great writing S. X


  2. CJ

    Brilliant. Um, I don’t mean to stare…


  3. Dawn

    I’m speechless – for once.


Leave a reply, start a conversation - go on, you know you want to!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s