Where The Wild Things Were

Last week when undressing to take a shower I looked down at my body. The final ten lbs laughed at me. My gigantic breasts looked like a pair of Cocker Spaniel ears. I had random strands of leg hair that I had missed around my ankle and knees that must date back to the 80s. With only some scissors and nail clippers at my disposal a tummy tuck and breast reduction seemed extreme. I could however, tackle, and I use that word loosely, the proof of evolution that was also featuring heavily in my reflection. Armed with the scissors I set to "tidy" and "prune". I decided I had been 'between styles' for too long.
Ladies, within just a few moments I felt and looked beautiful. I stood on the scales afterwards just to feel the difference.
All good, right? Well...all would be good except here I am recovering from the plague that is bouncing around. All that remains is a cough...just an annoying, dry bark. A non-productive cough - i think that is how Robitussin would classify it. (Incidentally, few things can be worse than a head cold when you have a teething baby to look after... In my delirium and desperation I actually blew my nose with a diaper at one point to save dribbling on Olive's body when I was changing her).
I digress...so I have a cough. Okay. Fine. Except now I don't just cough...I cough and I dribble. Cough. Dribble. You see, ladies, I have discovered the purpose of pubic hair. For those of us who were slack at doing our kegel exercises ( I was reluctant to use the word slack anywhere in this blog but...) pubic hair is the last line of defense when us new mums laugh, sneeze or cough! Guard it wisely. From one woman to another - don't go for style over substance!