PLURAL FEMALE # 4
The day of my first gynecological strabuzzai eyes at the sight of the bed.
"What's that? A piece of the collection MACHINERY OF TORTURE? "Yes. And as far as the Middle Ages seemed to me over for nearly a millennium, I felt dispossessed of my contemporary.
I did not know it would not be over them.
Ok, the initial discomfort. Ok the embarrassing position with his legs forced over two metal arms, too cold. Ok to all the colors alternated intermittently on my face through the whole kaleidoscope of colors on a palette of fuchsia, red and Bordeax. What
but was only the beginning.
When I decided I wanted a son, now I was accustomed to visits to the gynecologist.
"... and you women give birth in pain," said the fellow, who I nominate for the simple fact that it is not good to speak of the absent. Put it this way: natural childbirth and cesarean section between the clinical difference there, but the pain, that is always the same, it is always so. Between the before and after there seems to be passed on him a whole caravan of Sioux on the run across Canada.
It seems that the technology has not solved the problem. Few, in fact, hospitals that offer support that allows an epidural to ease the burden of suffering.
Ok! Pregnancy terminated, brat, and I baked the box, opened and shut like a Tupperware jar. I say "the bulk is done! Now comes the poetry. "Because after all grow up with the idea that having a child is the greatest thing in the world. Yes it is ... but the poem? Where is the magical aura that should make us sbriluccicare his eyes only to smell the sweet scent of life just arrived in our arms? Well, that perfume so much that we try and reproduce the scattering Pupetto with creams of all sorts, is lost in the suffocating smell of diapers and bibs of nauseating.
The evidence can not be denied. And then
insomnia, swollen eye bags like that stick to the skin, our clothes streaked with regurgitation, the hairs on the legs that we forget to root out, the eyebrows that seem to gutters. For the next three years we forget to be women, wives, we're just cows on demand until the breast milk of women and hard physical labor, as well as mental, because those Cosetti so cute, do not walk first, and then no longer stop it. To us to chase them for the whole house and even around the streets looking like crazy hysterical if we dare to speak out and risk helpline if one sees us through to lay a smack obnoxious brat.
It is true, are not all pernicious, are not all kids, not everyone is awake twenty-five hours a day. Some manage to do 10 / 15 minute nap, others miraculously asleep for hours, but in all this to say, do, kiss, letter or testament. ... To the end of the day, his head cast, back pain, swollen ankles as bagpipes we put them in their beds and when we look at them with their closed fists they fall asleep and start dreaming.
MAGIC!
lasts only a moment, because then you turn and see that you still have to fix the kitchen, clear the table, wash dishes, get a shower and maybe even take care of her husband. ... In the meantime Russia already on the couch.
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