November 04, 2011

Strap Down your stomach! I got Mail.

I love getting emails from people who take the time to read this little blog.  And some are too good not to share!

Dearest Mrs Woog,

I recently came across your blog post from last year called I carried a watermelon and other tales from the weekend.

Peter the fattist should thank his lucky stars that he doesn’t live in WA, because I would’ve been over there post haste, to double park at the end of his driveway and do evil things to his pool water.  I sincerely wish him old man fat gut, and young kids as neighbours who are inappropriate and don’t know any better so they repeatedly ask him if he is pregnant.

I myself am the host-body to one helluva Mummy Tummy.  You could probably see it from the moon, and, at times, I have wondered if it has its own gravitational pull.  True story.

I still buy maternity clothing.  I’ll never admit to wearing it, if we ever meet for cocktails, but just know that I’m all comfortable with my extra stomach-space stitched into my elastic waisted maternity jeans.  When I put them on the right way, that is.

Faux pregnancy questioning started, for me, approximately 2 months post-birth.

I went back to work and one of my male underlings told the new girl that her boss, yours truly, was pregnant.  So she bound up to me like a 20yr old golden retriever, all blonde and bubbly and stupidly slim, and very loudly congratulated me on my pregnancy.

In the middle of my very own Welcome back to work after your baby morning tea.  Complete with very large banner to that effect.

She didn’t last very long, but not on account of me, she just couldn’t keep up….

This was followed very closely (approximately 10 months later….1 year post-birth) by being confronted by a hug-wielding former co-worker in the middle of a shopping centre.  Initially, she complimented me on how great I looked.  Score!  She followed up by saying how much I was glowing.  At which point I wondered if I was flushed or sunburnt?  Then she delivered the ego crushing blow of “So when are you due?”.

It goes without saying that I lied and mumbled something about 3 months to go and must rush, late for my Ob appointment.

Then I had the twins and the Mummy Tummy grew and also started to head South.  I’m considering registering for the Baby Bonus on the assumption that I must’ve conceived triplets and they left one in there.

Almost immediately after having the twins (so, like 8 months later), I ran into another former colleague in another shopping centre.  This time, I had the twins in tow so it was a rather quick reunion, some fussing over the polar opposite twins, and thankfully one of the little darlings crapped enough that the wafting stench drove the woman away quickly.

But not before she marvelled at how brave I was to be going again so soon.

Holy mother of vodka, what is wrong with people?

Attention, ladies, fella’s, lady-fella’s….PETER….Do not ever assume a woman is pregnant unless she is crowning.  That is all.

Also, if anyone knows of a supportive undergarment that does not cut off all circulation below the elastic waistband, and does not force ones kidneys up around their boobs on account of the severe constriction…please let me know.

Otherwise I’ll have to start taping my Mummy Tummy down before I leave the house, or risk abuse from morons who think I’m out at a bar drinking all that wine while pregnant.

Best Wishes
Parental Parody

 Parental Parody is a lover of wine and vodka (fine and cheap).  Sarcastic creator of Miss 6-going-on-25 and the 2yr old "twin tornado".  Rather than spending her time improving her parenting skills, she blogs about her parenting fails with unabashed sarcasm.  When not surgically attached to her laptop, she is either drinking cheap booze, watching reality TV, or camped out at the local Macca's knocking back cheap coffee while the twins eat other kids' leftover from the playground floor.

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