Dirty Dancing for Preggos
I have been neglecting my blog. And, if you have one, chances are I’ve been neglecting your blog, too. I’ve been busy. Busy getting ready for school to start, and busy going to school now that it’s started. Busy car shopping (yes, we decided six months ago that we need a bigger car to accommodate our soon-to-be-bigger family, and yes we chose to wait ‘til three weeks before my due date to start looking), and busy trying to sell our current car. Busy hauling baby clothes out of the attic and laundering them, and rearranging furniture to make room in our house for a changing table and bassinette. And of course, all this has to be fit in around the minimum of ten hours of sleep a night I need to function these days and the five meals a day I currently eat.
I’ve also been busy shaking my ass, grinding my pelvis, and thrusting my engorged nether regions hither and yon. In other words, getting ready for labor.
When I had O. four and a half years ago, I readied myself for labor in part by doing this sort of obscene hip-centric snake dance that my prepared childbirth teacher recommended. “Plant your feet hip-width apart, squat down a little, and pretend you’re writing your name in the sand in pee,” she advised. Well Hell, that sounded fun, and it seemed like a skill worth cultivating anyway. (I’d always envied my friend Amy C., who has successfully written her name in pee in the snow on more than one occasion. Though given that her name has three letters and mine has nine, I’m at something of a disadvantage.) I’d put on some slow, funky music and writhe my hips in the pattern of my first and last name. And middle initial -– I wanted to be official about this.
Now that my due date is fast approaching, I’ve started the pee-in-the-sand dancing again in order to loosen my pelvis for birth, plus I’ve added new obscene exercises to my regimen. At my last prenatal appointment, the midwife noted that my baby is currently head down and posterior (i.e. facing toward my belly button) instead of the preferred position (anterior, facing my spine). A posterior baby can lead to back labor (which is extraordinarily painful) and can slow the progress of labor and cause the baby’s head to get hung up in the mother’s pelvis, all things I’d prefer to avoid. To help the baby move into a better position, the midwife recommended “pelvic rocking.” Sounds sexy, no? And it is sexy, or at least sexual. It involves me getting down on all fours and thrusting my pelvis back and forth, which makes me feel like a bitch in heat. I mean a real bitch, in real heat. If I weren’t already so visibly pregnant, you’d think I was trying to get someone to knock me up.
To take things to an even kinkier level, my doula suggested that I have my Old Man give me daily perineal massages in order to help prevent tearing and avoid an episiotomy. The thing I always think of when someone mentions perineal massage is that in one of her books sex columnist Suzie Bright notes that “it’s just like fisting.” She says this like it will make me think “Oh, fisting. Well, then: no big deal!” I have to admit I haven’t gotten there yet. But I’m working my way, one pelvic thrust at a time.
I’ll keep you posted.
I’ve also been busy shaking my ass, grinding my pelvis, and thrusting my engorged nether regions hither and yon. In other words, getting ready for labor.
When I had O. four and a half years ago, I readied myself for labor in part by doing this sort of obscene hip-centric snake dance that my prepared childbirth teacher recommended. “Plant your feet hip-width apart, squat down a little, and pretend you’re writing your name in the sand in pee,” she advised. Well Hell, that sounded fun, and it seemed like a skill worth cultivating anyway. (I’d always envied my friend Amy C., who has successfully written her name in pee in the snow on more than one occasion. Though given that her name has three letters and mine has nine, I’m at something of a disadvantage.) I’d put on some slow, funky music and writhe my hips in the pattern of my first and last name. And middle initial -– I wanted to be official about this.
Now that my due date is fast approaching, I’ve started the pee-in-the-sand dancing again in order to loosen my pelvis for birth, plus I’ve added new obscene exercises to my regimen. At my last prenatal appointment, the midwife noted that my baby is currently head down and posterior (i.e. facing toward my belly button) instead of the preferred position (anterior, facing my spine). A posterior baby can lead to back labor (which is extraordinarily painful) and can slow the progress of labor and cause the baby’s head to get hung up in the mother’s pelvis, all things I’d prefer to avoid. To help the baby move into a better position, the midwife recommended “pelvic rocking.” Sounds sexy, no? And it is sexy, or at least sexual. It involves me getting down on all fours and thrusting my pelvis back and forth, which makes me feel like a bitch in heat. I mean a real bitch, in real heat. If I weren’t already so visibly pregnant, you’d think I was trying to get someone to knock me up.
To take things to an even kinkier level, my doula suggested that I have my Old Man give me daily perineal massages in order to help prevent tearing and avoid an episiotomy. The thing I always think of when someone mentions perineal massage is that in one of her books sex columnist Suzie Bright notes that “it’s just like fisting.” She says this like it will make me think “Oh, fisting. Well, then: no big deal!” I have to admit I haven’t gotten there yet. But I’m working my way, one pelvic thrust at a time.
I’ll keep you posted.
posted by E. | 7:50 PM
3 Comments:
Frankly, I...I'm not impressed.
Report back when you've mastered writing your name in pee while rocking your pelvis on all fours and being fisted at the same time, and then I will gladly hand over your Medal of Kink.
When I handed Terrance the sheet on perineal massage, I thought he might actually DIE.
He yelled "WHO GAVE YOU THIS!" as if I had just handed him a dirty butt plug.
Such pussies, men.
You better rock your pelvis away because my little man was born 'sunny side-up' as my midwife called it. I guess he was flipping around at the end, still unsure of how he wanted to come out.
I'll have to try the sand pissing thing with my next!
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