What a gorgeous day! The skies are blue, the birds are singing and the sun is twinkling in all its glory as I sit out on the patio, wearing as little as i can possibly get away with, (without alerting the neighbours.)
To give you more of a visual impression I am dressed in my white smock shirt, my husbands scruffy sport shorts and his slippers and my sunglasses are perched on a mop of wet hair. I'd describe the overall look as boho-ghetto chic. Probably not the ideal candidate for style icon of the year. What would Gok say I wonder . . . ?
I am however extremely proud to announce that underneath my fashion faux pas I am deliriously silky smooth - having been de-frizzed and lavished in moisturiser - and am feeling quite accomplished, considering de-fuzzing is proven to be extremely tricky when one has the obstacle of a uterus the size of a football to overcome.
I've heard that most women in the latter stages of pregnancy employ the handy-work of their other halves when it comes to body maintenance? Asking them to help with shaving and painting of toe nails etc. I've let Jay off the hook on this occasion though, just so i could feel more human again. (There's something very undignified about a 25 year old lady getting her fella to tidy up her lady garden.)
I've been thinking a little about being body-image conscious, especially when pregnant and in a relationship and I have come up with a little theory, which i have had for quite a while actually, regarding why us women, (and men too, though that's a different subject,) are so obsessed with taking care of ourselves. I thought I'd share the theory with you for opinion.
You see Mother Nature, (or whoever it was responsible for the make-up of our bodies and the differences between sexes) has determined that Men have the ability to sow their seeds willy-nilly, (pardon the pun) meaning they can technically impregnate as many of us poor women folk as they like. Whilst we, (the fairer sex?! ha!) can carry only a small number of offspring at a time, and it takes the whole of nine months, (which, trust me, is a fairly long period of time) - before we're ready to reproduce again.
So basically it would seem that we have more of a job than they do at actually keeping our partners interested enough to stay with us, whilst we produce the off-spring, to reap the rewards of having a male present, and to ensure that their hunter-gatherer talents are not spread amongst every baby-mumma they have. (Am I making sense here? I hope so.)
You see i think it's a theory that comes from the cavemen days and based on this i figured that somewhere buried in our systems is the need to ensure that once we've found our men we have to work pretty damn hard at actually keeping them. (Kinda like fishing i guess??! Reel them in and then step on them for long enough to ensure they can't wriggle free . . . lol Brutal but true.)
I think being aware of how we appear on the outside is part and parcel in a way. Perhaps, (and I'm not saying that my theory applies in all relationships, not by a long shot) but just perhaps, we work extra hard at keeping ourselves looking gorgeous, to subconsciously keep his eyes from straying?
Hmmmm - Any truth in it? You decide.
I have to say however that my own relationship completely contradicts my theory. I mean whilst i love to receive a compliment from my husband when I've made the effort to scrub up a tad, I don't preen and beautify myself purely for his benefit. I like to look good for me, to keep myself feeling good.
Yet there is an element of self-doubt that comes with being pregnant. The fact that I can't shimmy and strut in my heels. I can't walk with the wiggle that I have subconsciously developed over the years and I can't squeeze into sexy little dresses at the moment, these all leave me with the sense that I've lost a part of my femininity that always kept me feeling good.
It sounds silly I know, I mean, I'm carrying our baby - what could be more feminine than that? Yet the shoe queen within me is not satisfied with being merely a baby-making machine.
It's not Jay's fault that I feel like this, (well, technically it is but we won't go there . . . ) He's constantly showering me in compliments and he tries really hard to make me feel good about myself yet I can't help but put myself in his shoes (like i said I have pinched his slippers today,) and I don't think i'd be content with a waddling, whinging, hormonal woman in my bed!
So I have two options . . . I can sit and feel sorry for myself whilst stuffing my face with chocolate, (since Vodka is currently out of the question,) or I can indulge in lots of yummy bubble baths, have my barnet done and my nails done too and concentrate really hard on a very strict beauty regime. And right now I'm flitting between the two :-)
