20 Feb 2008

Imaginations Aren't Always Good Things

This blog marks the beginning of a tag called "Daddy Disclaimer". My parents and some relatives read this blog and I'm pleased that they do. However, they may not be so comfortable with certain subjects. Subjects that involve my descriptions of certain Lady Parts and certain "doings" of those Lady Parts. While this particular entry isn't all that graphic, I believe that it's a nice, soft way of introducing the "Daddy Disclaimer" - which is ultimately an upfront warning that an entry will involve mention of things most daddies don’t want to hear through the narration of their daughters. It is officially your fault if you continue reading and feel icky about doing so afterward.

Daddy Disclaimer is in effect.

So, this weekend, I felt like crap thanks to my period. My period is weird and has been for many years. It starts off like a normal person's, but then about two or three days in, it kicks itself into high gear and puts the pedal (that being my ovaries) to the metal (that being my pain threshold). Insane cramping, back pain and enough of "Aunt Flow's Special" to fully satiate many an Anne Rice character. The saving grace of this is that the intense badness can be tamed by Extra Strength Midol, a hot water bottle and tampons that are about as thick as grenades. In short, it's manageable and I have a system.

Late Sunday night, none of my standbys had any effect. Despite the barrage of pills and hot water bottles, I felt INTENSE pain through my abdomen accompanied with the feeling like someone was punching my 'gina and bum from the inside out. My lower back was crying for relief - and let me tell you - those stupid ThermaCare Heat Wraps are ridiculous pieces of shit that no one would back-flip over. Relief = NO. For hours, I felt the same aching, horrible pain and it literally kept me awake through the night.

At about 3:30am, my underslept imagination took hold and formed the only conclusion it could to explain this level of pain: I was going into labour. Despite using the best birth control ever (ABSTINENCE! Ha - kidding. Sorry, Daddy Disclaimer, for that glimmer of fake sunshine!), I convinced myself in the wee hours of the night that I was about to deliver a baby on my couch. Panic took me. I was already a bad mother. How many drinks have I had over the past few months? Moreso, how many times have I been Silly Drunk? Ughhh – and what about that time the barbell accidentally flopped on my tummy at the gym? Would baby have knees growing in the opposite direction and eyes growing next to its ears? After a great deal of silent sulking, I felt it was time to just face the facts and my ugly, horrible baby: I decided to push. I decide to just do it and deal with the badness of my motherhood and to make each day an improvement from that moment.

And then.


It happened.

I released the most pent-up fart of my life.

It was a fart that could have launched a thousand ships, leveled a small city and inspired the first all-tuba orchestra. God bless that fart. I gave birth to the most wonderful bundle of carbon dioxide to ever grace the earth. I know all mothers believe their offspring are the best, but I really mean it!

When the dust cleared (literally), I felt silly and stupid for fretting over “my baby” and quickly went to sleep. All was right in the world. Guilt-free living was still mine to enjoy. My butt-ugly baby didn't have to debut just yet.


Anonymous,  11:24 am, February 20, 2008  

What can I say?

I guess, "thanks for the warning" and "thanks for future warnings".

This incident is not totally without precident. One night, at the tender age of one, you were about to be bundled up and rushed to the nearest hospital as a result of an all-night screaming marathon while we were visiting a friend here in Saskatoon. Just as we were getting ready to leave for the hospital to have you euthanized, you let loose with what was until this latest, "the most pent up fart of your life."

You then relaxed and went happily to sleep.

Val 12:56 pm, March 02, 2008  

God help me for laughing out loud in my grimy hotel room in Hanoi. Bless you and your giant fart, Jen.

Foxy Renard 8:28 pm, June 13, 2009  

Hah. Hah. Hah. Hah. Hah. Oh my god. You are a crazy, crazy girl. I just happened to click on the Daddy Disclaimer label and found myself here. Hiiiiiiilarious.

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Need words? I'm a Toronto-based freelance writer who injects great ones into blogs, websites, magazines, ads and more. So many services, one lovely Jen (with one 'n').

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