leftunspoken's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It's only a little fur. You're all a nice sort basically. A little twisted, a little damaged, a little beutiful. That's us all. (There are the extremists...those who are too damaged or too beautiful. But I like to think the majority of us here are kin.) Seeing as how y'all are the nice sort, I don't feel too bad telling you something slightly embarrassing. You have full permission to laugh at me or shake your head, just no poking with sticks. So here goes: I used to be one of those girls that shaves her legs on a daily basis. Now I've never been hairy. (My twin sister, bless her heart, got that trait - she's been fuzzy since birth - this perhaps explains her obsession with Nair and her phobia-like response to her own or anybody else's body hair of generally any location.) But I discovered as a teenager that shaving my legs from toe to hip every shower, resulted in the softest legs ever. Serious...ask all my ex-boyfriends. They always babbled, almost stunned at how smooth my legs were. But in the past seven months or so, my standards of personal hair removal have deteriorated significantly. Now you might think it is just because I've found "the one." "He loves me, he'd fuck me if his own hair was on fire, what's a little leg stubble." But that is seriously not it. It's the whole knocked-up thing. In the beginning, I tried, I really did. But the morning sickness was so very bad, and staying vertical, and not dizzy, and not vomiting in the shower was hard enough without trying to bend over. Then just about the time I stopped getting sick in the shower, I got fat. And that presented challenges and discomforts of it's own. Then I got even fatter and it became nearly impossible. It's not nice squishy flexible fat. It's big hard round fat, that feels as if you'd ace bandaged a basketball to your middle and then tried to bend over it. I haven't lost all my flexibility: A little baby lizard wandered his way into our office the other day, and me, being the only one that didn't find cute little lizards threatening, crawled under the desk, lied on my side, caught him using a plastic cup and a large post-it pad, and got myself back out from under the desk and off the floor with no assistance or injury to myself or the lizard. Also, I'm proud to report that I can still paint my toenails. But the shaving thing is difficult and uncomfortable, and as a result I've let it slide many extra days quite often. Why am I telling you this? Well I hadn't really thought much about it, but apparently my poor subconscious has been very alarmed by the way of things. I dreamed that DarlingDear and I were driving. He was driving a big ol' 1970 baby blue Cadillac CDV (that in real life belonged to an ex, but shhh don't tell him), and it was summertime, and the windows were down, and I wasn't pregnant in the dream and was wearing a white peasant skirt that hit my knees, but was hiked up because of being in the car, AND...I had long blondish hair covering my legs. (Not scary sasquatch hair - just about what it looks like that summer before your mother decides your old enough to start the never-ending ritual of shaving your legs, only a little more abundant.) And truth be told it was actually kind of pretty and very soft. But I woke up this morning, and remembered my dream, and declared that come hell or breaking water, I'm shaving my legs tonight. So there it is. This is my life now. P.S. Little one is still happily camped out with his head under my left breast, and not showing any indication of wanting to check out any other view of my uterus, so as the countdown continues (28 days...), it's looking more and more like a csection. 11:42 a.m. - August 05, 2005 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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