I’m not being a bitch but…

I’m not being a bitch but… thumbnail

When I was in grade three I had a love-hate relationship with Melanie Bentley. We were BFFs but her hair was longer than mine. You see the problem?

When Melanie turned up at school with an above-the-shoulder bob cut, after her little brother put chewy in her hair, her devastation was obvious and her social fall was inevitable. Outwardly I commiserated and shared her pain but inside I was singing ‘HALLELUJAH! PRAISE THA’ LORD!’  I’d like to say that I left such pettiness behind in the schoolyard along with My Little Pony and my copy of Wham’s! Fantastic. But I’d be lying. As the years flew past, I grew up but my quest for point scoring didn’t. I simply changed the terms of the competition.

When I became pregnant things got even worse. It was evident quite early in my pregnancy that I was not going to win the Who Gained the Least Weight During Pregnancy competition. My only option was to redefine the rules of the game to who was doing it toughest. ‘Morning sickness,’ I’d scoff. ‘I’m sick all day, every day’.

There was no let up when I left hospital. Yes, I had an epidural. Lose a point. But I was determined to breastfeed. Gain one point. I have milk supply issues so I’m sitting up all night on a breast pump stimulating supply. One more point for me. Did I mention being hospitalised with mastitis? If that doesn’t get me another point I don’t know what does. But my daughter has a dummy. Ouch! Two point deduction.

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