Why Pregnant Women Shouldn’t Play Twister Alone in Their Shower Stall. Ever.

I truly meant to take a refreshing shower to shed the ickiness of my foul, grinch-like mood. That water faucet hadn’t seen such aggression when being turned to the “on” position, I felt almost Schwarzenegger-esque in my efforts to turn the temperature to hot and step inside to the steam.

After lathering and rinsing my in-desperate-need-of-hair-care-products hair a few times, I began lathering up for the ever-awkward shave. I probably could have thought this through a bit better, being eight months pregnant with a Santa-like belly and all, I heaved my leg up onto the side of the shower, without a care in mind, attempting to tuck my belly out of the way to reach my toes and begin my best efforts to shave stray hairs from my shin and not slice and dice my skin.

But between the soap, the steam, and my wobbling pregnant body, I dropped the stupid razor, and when it fell, I felt it’s echo onto the shower stall floor though my body. DAMN YOU, YOU STUPID RAZOR! I cussed at it.

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I released my leg from it’s torturously awkward propped-up position, but it, too, hit a patch of foamy soap, causing me to not remain balanced (as if any pregnant woman ever feels that way, ever), simultaneously as I was leaning to reach the razzafrackin’ razor, I fell, and landed in a downward-facing dog position.

Except, not graceful, not pretty, and definitely not relaxing.

I realized my ass-cheeks were being pressed against the glass wall, and suddenly, and uncomfortably, I had an audience. “Hi, mommy.”

I turn my head to see Baby Dude had been watching my pregnant calisthenics.  “I see your butt, mom!”

Gee thanks, dude.

(I will spare you the horror by NOT taking a picture of the smear-marks my ass-cheeks made on the shower wall, which would not only scar you for life, but further my embarrassment in having to admit how wide those bad-boys are. Cuz, y’know, pressing them against glass isn’t exactly slimming.)

I bent my knees to get on all fours, picked up the stupid razor, swiping my soaking wet hair out of my face, and got back to a normal, standing position, so I could finish rinsing my hair.

Baby Dude waved to me with a smile. I waved back.

(We won’t speak of this again, right dude? Right?)

(P.S. Mom will choose to take baths instead of showers next time, okay? Okay.)

(P.P.S. If you happen to see me with only one partially shaven leg, don’t ask, just smile and wave.)

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