Its time to be a mother…gulp…. my ovaries can’t wait any longer, plus my marriage is at the point where I’d like to introduce new characters so…. IT’S TIME to transit myself from high maintenance model, to mother… to find that maternal switch and let my body do its thing and have my first baby. Easy, huh?…. It shouldn’t be too hard in this day and age to give birth…so why am I……afraid? I thought motherhood was supposed to come naturally to women?
Well lets have a look at my life thus far, I wear black leather, ripped skinny jeans, I can smoke like a chimney, drink bourbon from the bottle, I sleep late, I swear, I’ve been having the time of my life for years, modeling all over the world, partying in the best places, hanging out on rooftops with my mates who are mostly dj’s, I eat at restaurants, drink milk from the carton… Ha ha ha…what a picture….but…something is missing… I’ve maxed out at this level, and it’s time to move on.
The list of things that make me nervous is endless. Starting with stretch marks, will they stay that fetching shade of royal purple forever? Can I get any fatter? Morning sickness, (belch) and gas…. am I supposed to feel serene of just seasick? Then there’s the destruction of my milk trucks, the crushing pain of childbirth, supporting my little one, endless responsibilities, saying goodbye to my bikini body and perhaps my 20-year modeling career.
Will the fashion industry now view me as a horse with a broken leg? Totally useless? Put me out to pasture? Yikes.
Plus hanging out in mothers groups makes me feel like a pork chop in a synagogue.
Then there’s no more drinking, parties…or fun…..say goodbye to high heal living. Cravings for weird food, my doctor actually told me one woman ate washing powder!! Can you imagine farting bubbles?
Then the fat chick outfits come out of the closet… I’ll just have to smash all the mirrors in the house…somehow I think I’m grossly underestimating my vanity here…. Well, that’s a model for you I guess.
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Then there’s the REAL fears like, what happens if there were something wrong with my baby, how would I cope? What happens if I don’t do my pelvic floor exercises, will my fanny fall out? Then there’s the nappies, three years of smelly diapers… What a thankless task that is.
Fuck how does ANYONE ever get the courage to do this? Just like most expecting mothers I’m afraid…. like a goldfish in a leaky bag…..tick tock… This baby is growing! The only thing I’m not worried about is the baby brain, I’m sure I’ll cope without the use of a few brain cells…. my brain has been on a permanent vacation since I started modeling anyways. But where are my keys? Why are my glasses in the freezer? Did I do that?
Throwing back another snickers bar, I’ve started watching the TV series ONE BORN EVERY MINUTE in preparation for my birth, where you can see huge purple stretch marks on display, women screaming whilst they give birth to watermelon sized babies, mass destruction of v-jjs is everywhere….in a panic I switch off the telly and try to stare at my feet, but I can’t see them anymore? Better put the Snickers down, I eye the washing powder nervously and my mind boggles even more.
I wonder if my poor va-jj will stretch so much that sex will become something like throwing a sausage up a hallway.
All my friends are living life under the disco ball of life… And I’m starting to look round like a disco ball but with none of the fun. I don’t think they let pregnant women into clubs… So I have to find new hobbies….hmmmmm I look up hobbies on the Internet…I’m instantly bored… Is sleep a hobby?
Was it too late to have second thoughts, should I feel guilty about having second thoughts? Will I ever have sex again?
For some reason I had always imagined that being pregnant would just be like me, but with a big bump out in front. It hadn’t occurred to me that the reality of being pregnant would eventually be felt in every physical part of my body and in every recess of what I fondly used to call my mind. I thought I’d just live my life the way it has always been just stop getting smashed and having a few fags at the weekend… Work was going to go on as normal, I’d just need some larger shirts at some point…
apparently not…oh, don’t ask (belch)