Dop 'n Tjop

Whoever said pregnancy was a fully enlightening and spiritual experience of bonding and passage into womanhood was deluded.

Being on the wagon for 9 months is boring as bat shit. My kingdom for a glass or two of full bodied Merlot or a tall G&T to take the edge off the end of a long day. They say 1 to 2 units of alcohol per week is perfectly acceptable – oh please. What’s the point! I’ve tried ‘letting my hair down’ whilst sober; it just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

As for bonding I have a small human inside me who reminds me that we’re ‘bonded’ all day long. Like when I’m just falling asleep and he decides to take a walk around my uterus, or when he gives my bladder a stiff poke and I have to get up for the umpteenth time in the middle of the night to pee. His only job is to grow and be born and then to wreak havoc on our world. It’ll be at least 25 years before he appreciates any of it.

We went to a braai on Saturday with our first ‘kid friendly’ group of people. 3 of us were pregnant. The other 3 couples had 2 kids each – all under 5 – all evil, screaming, unruly, undisciplined little monsters. The mothers spent the afternoon running around delivering streams of futile threats (as one child smashed another in the face with a set of keys); whilst the fathers stood in unified impotence at the braai drinking beer; apparently deaf or retarded, possibly both. The scene reached riot proportions. Us 3 pregnant women sat dumbfounded in a corner, diet coke in one trembling hand, boerie roll in the other staring in terror at our impending fate.

‘If there is a god’ I prayed ‘please a) smite these children down just for one hour so that I can eat my chop in piece and b) ensure that my children are well behaved little angels – thank you. Oh, and c) please include the fathers in the smiting for being so crap and useless – amen’.

Judging other people. It’s a thrilling alternative to being pissed.

What else? Mike is project managing the modernisation of a lardy-da food and retail store here in eThekwini which is top notch. I am consulting on 3 different HIV-related projects – involving lots of research and report writing. So hurrah hurrah there is hope for our strung-out flat-broke arses after all.

We keep to ourselves mostly and haven’t mingled much with the locals, although Mike does have a group of surfing mates we see from time to time. Durbanites are an odd bunch though. They have this uber-religious thing going on. My brother who lived here for 6 years says Durban is a mecca for jesus freaks. Who knew? I don’t really get it but I must learn to stop saying ‘fuck’ so much.

My non belief in all things biblical was challenged recently when it appeared we’d been struck by a plague of frogs. The little padda’s found their way under the door jambs to shelter in the warmth of our home. Six froggies over two nights all whilst Mike was out working and I was painted to the couch watching Oprah and Desperate Housewives.

Here's celebrating my round bits ...