Updated: Jun 12, 2020
Following on from my morning after pill fiasco, I decided that perhaps a long-term ‘no more babies for now’ plan would be an idea and so decided to have the coil put back in. I could’ve done this a while ago, however, the thought of anyone going near my lady bits was still something I was not overly keen on. I know it’s been 11 weeks now but I really felt like I owed the old girl a bit of a prolonged break. That said, she’d certainly suffer more if another bambino planted it’s little ass down there so I bit the bullet and made an appt.
Like any other day, getting out of the house was a fucking mission and I was running a little late. But I made sure my personal hygiene was up to scratch, if you know what I mean, and then we bolted out the door. However, what I did forget in my haste, well, I say forget, more like ignored, was my need for a poo.
In hindsight, this was pretty stupid because the attempt to stop yourself from farting are significantly reduced when your legs are set at quarter to three. You can see where I’m headed with this, can’t you?
Yep, mid fitting, speculum well and truly in, I’m trying to relax as much as possible and, in doing so, all the wind I’d held in up to that point flew right out.
I often wonder if I should be allowed out unsupervised/unattended. Today I decided the answer to that is no, I should not.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure the lovely doctor who fit my coil has hopefully heard and smelt worse, but fuck me, there’s nothing quite like a fart in the face as an introduction. I genuinely think I would’ve been less embarrassed if I shit myself during birth. At least then I could’ve blamed Rex. Not today. While Rex was with me today, there was no hiding behind him with that bad boy, that was aaaaaaall me.
Like most situations I find myself in these days. I apologised profusely and scurried out of the surgery with a face redder than the sun.
My farting faux pas/coil story leads me nicely on to another sophisticated conversation Eamo and I had recently. About a billion people have told me recently how much Rex looks like his dad. As I was telling him this the other day, I noticed that Eamo had his hands down his pants. Again. (Why do boys do that? What are they doing?? And WHY?)
Me: ‘He may look like you but here’s hoping he doesn’t start copying your habits. If you keep playing with that, it’s going to fall off’.
He responds immediately: ‘Well you don’t play with it!’
I shouldn’t have been surprised by this response. Eamo is actually very funny (not that I would ever tell him that), but it made me guffaw with laughter. Touché, babe, touché.
Me: Laughing ‘I can see it now, we’ll go to try for another baby and won’t be able to because your cock has fallen off’.
His response? A cock helicopter.
Like I said, non-stop sophistication in this house.
His double chin has a double chin!
Ok, I’ll stop talking about cocks falling off and farts now and start on something else just as disgusting. I remember being really worried that Rex wasn’t putting on any weight in the first few weeks. I needn’t have. He’s now a beast of a baby. So much so that he has about four chins, which in itself is actually very cute, but also pretty minging.
When he feeds, any escapee milk ends up, under his many chins and it’s bloody impossible to get it all out without Rex having a meltdown. Try as I might to clean it, I often miss some, which has resulted in said milk festering in to what I’m sure is a new kind of cheese in amongst his what were cute chin rolls. I ran my finger along his neck recently, sniffed it and nearly passed out from the smell. (For all of those reading that in horror, don’t even pretend you haven’t stuck your finger in your belly button and sniffed it before 😉 ).
Here’s to when chunk can hold up his head up properly so cleaning out the cheese factory he’s started up is a bit easier. On that particularly gross note, I’ll leave you to your weekends. Happy Friday everyone! 😉
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