Things I wish I'd done before getting pregnant
Posted Tuesday 18th November 2014 By Ericka Waller
So in hindsight, there are quite a few things I wish I had done before getting knocked up. I wish I’d taken photos of my pre-pregnancy tummy. The one I was never happy with before, even after all the kick-boxing and running, but looking back now I see was beautiful. Don’t get me wrong. I know that the tummy I have now is beautiful in a different way but I know which one I’d rather see in a crop-top.
I wish I’d had my fandangoo cast in bronze, before it delivered three 9lb babies and received two third-degree tears. I could have mounted it on the wall like a moose-head and hung coats from it.
I wish I’d done that whole sex education thing of looking at my “mons pubis” (lady garden) in a mirror, but I never did. I have spent more than three hours of my life having my perineum sewn back together, I’m far too scared to see what lies beneath now. It does not help that at one point during labour the ex told me that my fanny looked like a pair of testicles. I know what they look like, and they sure ain’t pretty.
Sorry dad, if you are reading this, but I wish I’d had more sex, with more people. I was always the frigid coat-holder among my mates. I could be put off by how someone’s trousers fitted over their shoes. Now I’m back on the circuit, but see the above paragraph for why I am not feeling too confident about it. I wish I’d done it more when my nipples did not point sideways and my stomach skin was not prone to getting shut in the cutlery drawer.
I wish I had “nipped out” to more places more often. I’ve not “popped out quickly” in seven years. I’ve yet to get out the house in under an hour.
I wish I’d free-wheeled down big hills with my legs out wide, responsible for no one but myself. I wish I’d flown to a foreign country alone, hired a car and driven on the wrong side of the road, singing my favourite song out loud.
I love being a young mum, but part of me wishes I’d had children a little later. I’d really have liked a couple more years in my old child-free relationship. I remember late night walks into Brighton and onto the pier, talking about everything and nothing, sharing chips on the way home. Time was ours to squander. Our future was unknown and glaringly bright before us.
And finally, I wish I had cherished the joy of pooing alone.