Or rather, cheesecake and fizzy wine. Anyway, vast consumption of these have used up my calorie intake for the entire week. That's the problem with birthdays, people want to make you fat. And drunk.
I watched a programme on home birth the other week. This woman squatted on a sheet in her front room, spat the baby out of her downstairs pout and went to make a cup of tea. Incredible! No mooing, or pooing, or urm, gluing back together everything that had split or stretched in the process.
I'd like a home birth. I don't want to spend sixteen hours on a hospital ward, screaming until I'm as purple as the child I'm trying to force out. I'd stock up on anti-bacterial wipes and watch the Neighbours omnibus until the moment arrived. If the pain got particularly horrific, I could chew on the sofa arm or something. That's what they used to do in medieval times. Well, except they didn't have sofas, they used sticks.













http://soyunperdedor.blog.co.uk
2008-07-24 @ 12:11