The truth is, Beth, we don’t know when you were conceived.
We only did it twice that month – the functionality of it was making it boring, and frankly my attention was diverted by the thought of getting a kitten – but the twice we did, we did it with love.
Shaun is convinced you were conceived on my birthday; I am convinced you joined us less than a week later, on his.
Either way, you helped make it a very special night indeed.
The Final Indignity
So you have about 4 weeks left to go.
You have endured nausea, exhaustion, migraines, SPD, heartburn, confronting the thought of aborting your baby, crutches, leaky breasts, bleeding and loss of mental capacity. You have given up hope of ever touching your feet again.
Frankly, this would all be enough to drive anybody insane. But it appears this is not enough.
You have not yet endured piles.
Now I don’t want to start any blasphemous rumours, but I think that God has a sick sense of humour ….
I learn they are called piles because they look like a bunch of grapes.
Frankly, mine feel like a bunch of melons and they itch like f***.
The bottom is a very funny thing. It is part of us, but a part we disown because it makes smelly things and if you’re not careful, your hands get dirty. None of us is comfortable in claiming responsibility for our arse end.
So when that part of you itches, when it pulsates, when the existence of it is hammered into every cell of your being, it is agony. It is discomfort beyond endurance. It isn’t painful, but it is unpleasant enough to make you weep (cos you don’t do enough of that already).
You go to the doctor who gives you some cream. The cream helps but doesn’t solve.
You go again, this time to a nice lady doctor. She is brave enough to inspect them, and gives you some nuclear strength cream, along with the cheery warning that you can expect to suffer badly with them through the delivery (oh deep joy) although an epidural will numb them – that’s the pain relief decided then.
This cream is better, but again does not fully dissolve the misery. It is at this point that 2 sisters confess they suffered from this problem and, a whole week too late for my liking, tell me what they used.
So you go to Boots and you buy some suppositories – apparently this is the best way to attack. You get home and take the baby Exocets out of their packaging. You know what you have to do, but it’s not easy, least of all because bending the 3 miles round your belly to reach your bottom is no mean feat, and no movie star boyfriend in the world is going to help you shove medicine up your arse.
Tentatively you part the grapes and find the zone. You force yourself to breeeeathe, to relax, and go for it. Unpleasant is the only word that fits, and as your bottom closes around its present, it’s all you can do to not scream “euw euw euw”. For minutes afterwards, the package does not feel secure. I am worried that if I sneeze or cough it will get dislodged and I will have to start all over again. Worse, I am scared that if I fart it will fly around the bathroom and wreak more havoc than JFK’s magic bullet.
Amazingly, it doesn’t. Even more amazingly, it has a little magic of its own after all. Again, it doesn’t solve the problem, but for the first time in a week I am unaware of my bottom and it is bliss.