Blazing Saddles

I am the woman who shares.

I have told you about the time I was infested with poultry mites.

I have told you – with photos – about the time I picked up Harry’s turd in my bare hands. 

I have written an entire post – with illustrations – about suppositories. (Note for American readers regarding British medical terminology: pessaries generally go in your vagina. Suppositories most definitely go up your bum.)

I have posted a photo of a spectacular geyser of baby Dire Rear.

I have told you in eye-watering detail about my gynaecologist’s exceedingly narrow escape from being plastered with the contents of my wayward bowels.

(I’m seeing a pattern here. The British obviously are obsessed with toilet humour.)

The only reason I didn’t tell you about my amnotic fluid bursting forth and hitting the midwife – and the wall 4ft behind her – like a water bomb, was that I hadn’t yet started blogging.

Consequently, I feel almost contractually obliged to provide you with a clear description of the current sad state of my undercarriage.

Imagine a small animal, with sharp teeth. A rodent, possibly, or a very small, yappy-snappy dog. Imagine those teeth sunk deeply – well, ummm… here, (and I should perhaps have warned you during my previous post that the link photo illustrating the precise anatomy – an improvement on the drawings I found, I assure you – is not entirely suitable for opening on your daily commute. John, incidentally, has just appeared over my shoulder, peered at the photo in surprise, and asked me excitedly if I was contemplating batting for the other side. I enquired: had he not read my previous post, avec link? ‘Oh yes, but I don’t go wasting my time opening links.’) and refusing to relax its jaws for any inducement whatsoever.

Yesterday, it felt as if the stitches (I think I have 4 of them, but I need binoculars to be sure; it’s a long way down there and I have to circumnavigate my intrusive belly) were in imminent danger of bursting, despite my having consulted an ancient edition of the BNF and judiciously prescribing myself 150% of the recommended dose of post-operative voltarol. Today, it merely feels like someone has sliced my perineum in half and stitched it about a bit. Funny, that.

Most women have a newborn baby to distract themselves from the unpleasantness of this procedure. I, instead, have a toddler, the prospect of a long afternoon selling cards (courtesy of the current plethora of fetes and produce shows, I am working every Saturday for the next… ever. But at least I don’t have to sit down, which, emphatically, is not my favourite stance this week.) and the necessity of readying our caravan for travel to Devon on Sunday or Monday.

This week is the only window we have to escape before winter; naturally, the weather forecast has satisfied my predictions by changing from warmly optimistic to wetly foreboding. I said I would never caravan in the rain again, but it’s a choice between biting the meterological bullet or going nowhere, as the budget will not stretch to anything more exotic this year. We are, at least, leaving the dogs behind – but we are swopping them for a 2 year old. I’ll get back to you on whether it was an improvement or not.

John is currently attaching an old cot-side to the end bunk to form a baby-cage


 but I’m still pessimistic about the chances of us, or the surrounding campsite, getting much any sleep.

I am going armed with a large pile of unread books (bliss!), an oil-filled radiator, and a steely determination to walk short distances only. John is likely taking his bike.

I will not be taking mine.

13 Responses

  1. Blazing Saddles! BWahahahahahaha ohhhh dear, I shouldn’t laugh like that at your poor tortured undercarriage woes, but Blazing Saddles as a post title is inspired and genius and will you be my friend?

    Good luck with the caravaning in the rain with the toddler (dear God, that child is good-looking). I hope it is all happy lolling about reading while Harry sleeps the sleep of the just for twelve hours at a go. I really do hope so. Crossing fingers and everything.

    And good luck with the healing while standing about at fetes, and may you return home from each one ALL SOLD OUT.

  2. Also, how can John assume you’re thinking of batting for the other side while you’re still revelling in the embrace of the (In)Famous Jamie? (Am reading Outlander. Ooo-er).

  3. NOT cycling…good plan. Good luck with the fetes and the cards, and hope you all have a wonderful rest and that the gorgeous Harry continues to charm everyone he meets. Screaminess at night notwithstanding.

  4. Oh lordy, having read this post, just the word “bicycling” makes me wince in sympathy–and I’m not even the one with any undercarriage woes!

    (May I recommend taking a lot of warm baths? It is supposed to be very good for healing, as it increases blood circulation to the undercarriage. I believe this, as I had second-degree tears with both my first and second babies, but recovery took about a year with the first, and just six weeks with the second. I took no baths the first time, and lots the second.)

    I just took a vacation with our 2.5-y-o and quite frankly it was the opposite of relaxing. But we were staying in a house that had lots of things to be protected–including an antique grandfather clock handed down through the family and worth some $40K. Gah. We had lots of good times when outside, though, so I hope you’ll mostly have fun and not so much stress.

  5. Oh, my dear, thank you for linking back to the “Sticky Fingers” post. I see that it was the one that forced me to delurk. Why is it, exactly, that fecal material figures so prominantly into the lives of those with small children? I never thought it would be such a large part of my life. Or that others’ descriptions of it would cause me to snort coffee out my nose.

  6. Oh my, I have some backtracking to do! I did not know about the mites infestation, the turds in various formats, and associated adventures. Do I have some ground to cover!
    Have fun on holiers. One of those cushions with a hole in the middle, perhaps, might be just the thing?

  7. I just don’t know what to say to all that…you lead a very exciting life and I can’t wait to hear about what sort of adventures caravaning in the rain brings!

  8. The fact that you are going on a caravaning holiday to Devon only serves to convince me that you do actually live the Archers (though I hope your caravan experience will be more like the Snell’s than Usha and Alan’s – and if you have no idea what I am talking about you aren’t the woman I thought you were!)

    Oh, and ouchy!

  9. Ouch..

    I do hope that the change is as good as a rest.

  10. May beat me to the blazing saddles pun…

    Oh, and Ow!


  11. Although since it is in the title, I am not very original at ALL am, I?

  12. By now I hope you are having fun in the caravan and the weather forecast is wrong.

  13. I hope that the weather will shock you with it’s dryness. But what about Part 2 of the relatives’ visit?

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