Kathy Buckworth is an award-winning humour writer, and a monthly contributor to CanadianBabies. Check out her website at . Kathy Buckworth’s latest book, “Journey to the Darkside” is available at bookstores everywhere. Watch Kathy on Life Network’s “Birth Days”.
You Already Know This
There are many books in the parenting section which contain the phrase “Things They Didn’t Tell You” in the title. Things about childbirth, babies, becoming a mother, co-parenting with your partner, what happens to your body during pregnancy and the collateral damage therein. At this point, I think we’ve all been told. It’s whether we want to listen or not.
Granted, there are just some things that are too cruel to tell the first-time pregnant woman. You know what they are; I don’t need to tell you. (But the words “tearing” and “discharge” come to mind.) I do believe, however, that there is one thing we don’t talk about that much that does affect us on a daily basis, once junior and his/her successors arrive.
Who are you?
Oh, you used to be the career gal, or ambitious masters student, or elite athlete. Terms that defined your very being. Well guess what you are now? You’re Junior’s Mom, of...
By Kathy Buckworth Show me a woman who’s gone through childbirth and I’ll show you a woman who has shed most of her inhibitions. Particularly if she gave birth (as I did, a couple of times) at a teaching hospital. By the time they ask if you if you mind 14 or so medical students joining you to witness the miracle of childbirth - if you’re like me - you’re already drugged up and ready to agree to do anything that doesn’t involve having to not push for one second longer. Sure have a look! In fact, come back in a few hours and take a good gander at those stitches if you want to as well.
I’ve discovered that this release of previously held inhibitions regarding your body, your private parts, hell, even your bodily functions (all revealed in an spectacularly unattractive pose with the most unflattering lighting), leads to a new path of being uninhibited in many other areas of your life. Perhaps it’s nature’s way of allowing new Moms the...
My Mother’s Day went something like this: The kids made their lovely heartfelt handmade cards, (I’m trying really hard not to notice that the picture they drew of me includes a blonde moustache and a massive ass), and then presented me with a teacher-written “Cuz I’m small” poem. They had tucked these treasures on a tray, burned some toast with Daddy’s help, and slopped orange juice all the way up my newly carpeted stairs (“winter white” – what was I thinking?). They shook me awake (totally unnecessary as the youngest had already tripped on my discarded clothes and head butted me in the stomach), dumped the whole thing on my bed and announced “Happy Mother’s Day!” Which was quickly followed by “Eat the toast eat the toast eat the toast”, and “my present’s the best right? Right? Right? He’s hitting me! You’re going to die you little booger.”…and then it really started to degenerate.
