A few years ago, my sister and I decided to email each other some of our daily battles with being pregnant, breastfeeding or raising children. Out of these emails we started rearranging the wording for each other (see, she’s a school teacher!) and now we have all these little stories saved. I have shared some of these before on my blog a while back, and those who know me well will have heard these stories a million times…but, I felt like re-visiting the stories, so too bad if you are bored haha! And I am positively sure my sister will have many new stories now that she has a new addition to her family.
Being pregnant the first time round was truly amazing. I never could have imagined weeing on a stick was going to be so exciting. I was the happiest I had ever been. I started out reading every book imaginable and tried my hardest to stick to a nice healthy diet. I was so used to being skinny and could wear whatever I liked. But things don’t always go to plan. By 34 weeks I had gained 28kg and had to wear my husbands’ t-shirts and joggers! Yep, I said my husband’s shoes. My feet were enormous, my nostrils seemed enormous – everything was big. The wedding ring had not seen daylight for months. And this is where the drama begins…
Towards the end of my pregnancy I decided I really wanted to wear my wedding ring for the big day of delivery. So I hopped in the shower taking with me my beloved wedding ring. With a little help from a lot of soap I forced it onto my fluid-filled finger. Brilliant! But as I continued to shower I noticed that my finger was swelling quite dramatically and I knew that I had to get it off right away. But as it clearly wasn’t going to budge I really started to panic. Obviously very hormonal! Quickly out of the shower I ran, or rather waddled, out to my husband feeling a little faint and stupid at the same time.
Out came the pliers, the peanut butter, the Vaseline, you name it. To no avail it looked like I was going to have to visit the hospital. The nurse took one look at my swollen and almost blackened finger and raced me in to the Doctor. After several attempts by the Doctor using some type of cutting apparatus, they decided to ask the cleaner to help (well the Doctor was not the buff and masculine type)! This burly fella did the trick and my finger was finally free!
Ok, so maybe not the most sensible thing I’ve ever done, but I did have an excuse…I was pregnant.