Is your kid severly enough impaired? Strangely, you might hope so.

There are quite a few tasks that become neglected when you set course in the brave new world of special needs. Among them, is mail reading.


Learning that your child has a developmental disability, in our case, possibly Autism and certainly some form of cognitive developmental delay is akin to being launched willy-nilly into a brave new world where you don’t know a thing or a soul and haven’t a clue as to what comes next.

You’ll be interested to know that in this brave new world, regular stuff, like mail remains a tedious task. Ah, normalcy.

This evening I took on the seemingly benign challenge of getting through the correspondence that’s been screaming for my attention from my desk. It proved, in fact, not so simple task but a foray into the very fires of that brave new world.

At our house, I’m interested in everyone else’s mail but my own; and with all our daughters aged 7 and younger, that leaves me with only my husband’s mail as a diversion.  In our 11 years together, I have taken the initiative to get the mail 3 times, so the task of retrieving it from the mailbox at the end of the street has fallen to him.  My task is to look at it, experience panic, and place it atop the artfully constructed paper pile that I imagine myself wrestling into control.  Someday, after an Ativan.

This evening, I resolved to address as much of the pile as I could gather in one hand.  This was the bounty: a letter confirming Téa’s RESP, a letter from our health insurance confirming that we still have coverage,  a pre-approved loan application for $15,000 at the humble rate of extortion,  and a hefty envelope from the CLSC (local medical/social services clinic in Quebec) where Téa’s public medical/social needs will be “managed” [scoff, snigger, shaking of the head].

In it was an intake questionnaire in French with a post-it note apology from the social worker, saying she had run out of the English version.   Let’s pause for a moment to consider that I don’t read/understand French with the same fluency as English and that I live in a largely English-speaking area west of Montreal.

Ask me how many of these I have already filled in. SEVEN.

How many more of these am I going to have to fill out?

I have copies of many of them and it occurred to me that creating one Master summary and adding to it each new development/assessment/milestone reached would be an efficient way to keep a record of everything that takes place in and around Téa’s developmental journey.

It also occurred to me that we parents need a centralized online portal that all agencies can access and parents can give authority to access. In my ideallic imagination, there lives a portal with secure access for each practitioner I connect with on my daughter’s behalf including digital copies of all assessments, interventions, updates, reports, and pending needs assessments or appointments. *

Along with 8 back-to-back pages to fill in and return, out slid forms for the Provincial Handicapped Tax Subsidy.   With faked calm I opened the envelope.  Scanning the instructions for answers to:  did I have to use blue pen or black?  Did they want all cap’s? Which professional was considered professional enough to complete the professional copies of the form?  Did I need to sign in blood and tears or was a handwritten signature enough?

And as I scanned, a conveyor-belt of questions strolled through my brain:  is my daughter handicapped enough to qualify for the assistance we need?  She has an as yet undiagnosed variation of a gene that seems to be the cause of the impediments in her development, and she has been assessed as being on the Autism Spectrum – possibly as a result of the unnamed genetic variation.

Maybe it’s a personal fear of rejection, but really, how sick – how  delayed – how impaired – does she need to be for our family to qualify?  The expenses to get her the best care we can get are very large and VERY necessary.  Would this be understood by the faceless person considering our request as being very legitimate too?

As a rule, your impairment is considered severe and prolonged if it meets both the following conditions:

  • It has lasted (or is expected to last) for at least 12 consecutive months.
  • It has significantly limited your ability to perform a basic activity of daily living (seeing, speaking, hearing, walking, eliminating, feeding or dressing yourself, or functioning in everyday life because you do not have the necessary mental or physical functions).

As I took a pen to begin to fill in her name my breath wrangled itself, tortured, from my nearly fully compressed lips and as my hand moved to place the tip of the pen to paper I hit a wall of emotion and sorrow and disbelief so profound that I could not write her name.

Believe me, If I didn’t need a tax credit I would not apply. But  little as it is, every cent counts when the costs of caring well for a child with Autism are in the $50-80,000 a year range.

I wouldn’t fill in her name.  Call it what you will – a wholly unrealistic assessment of the situation…optimism…fear…maybe it’s all of that and more.  The truth is, I couldn’t write her name because doing so makes it so; makes it real in a way I refuse to accept.

My daughter is not handicapped.   How can she be?  How can this be?  Plus, my daughter is not handicapped.  From the bottom of my believing and possibly naive heart I feel that she is not handicapped.

And yet, she is.  Because she “is” a way makes her have to work harder to get what other kids get with relative ease. This vibrant, intelligent, problem-solving, skill-acquiring little girl who has the best attitude and joy-inducing smile on earth is handicapped like the golfer; and the Provincial Tax Subsidy goes (a little) way to helping us cover the interventions and therapies and specialists who help her correct and adjust and develop so that her score – like that of the golfer – improves and she can enjoy the game of life with more ease and pleasure.

That night, I stepped into a brave new world that probably sent my mail-opening motivation waaaaay back.

I’ve written before about discovering the Warrior in me that steps up in times of adversity. In such moments, my inner-warrior takes a look at what’s happening inside my heart and my head and says, alright, hon, step aside I’ve got this. And I let her.

Today, it seems – without letting me know – my warrior took the day off. Today I am just, mom. With all the strength and all the love and the fear that being mom involves.  My warrior doesn’t have aspirations for my children, she has mental muscle and a fucking indefatigable energy to fight and win.

I, as mom, have many definitions and aspirations for my girls. Handicapped isn’t one of them; and in those moments when I am more mom than warrior, and have to consider that there are different possibilities for my girls than I ever had to acknowledge…well…in some of those moments I crumble in the face of what needs to be done and let the warrior take over.

And guess what? Little by little I see that there is a blending of mom and warrior and we are fusing with each challenge, each possibility, each milestone that comes.

A. Warrior

*I’d like to build one. Who’s in?  If you want to help out by participating in the design, architecture, coding, and conception REACH out to me. This would be a parent-driven initiative, not a government/hospital one.

Parent’s are said to be the very best advocates for our children and I for one whole-heartedly believe it.  You want to know about my child? You need to know about her history? I will grant you temporary access and you can get it. All results will be compiled there. I am in charge. I lead the charge. And so do all other parents who like me, have found their inner Warrior.

Perhaps it exists and I don’t know of it yet. If you do, for goodness’ sake, tell me! I’ll tell every other parent/guardian in this mess of a system.

Sienna Lesson

“It’s okay that you ate my toast, because I love you. Ha ha!”

On hearing that I’d eaten the second slice of toast of the two I’d made for myself – the first one having been given to her.



The Foundation

The foundation of all things seems to be rather important.

I dismissed this when I was  younger as unnecessarily time consuming. Now I see the significance of good foundation garments to suck in my stomach and lift my ass…help my thighs not go raw as they rub, rub, rub together beneath summer dresses.

I see it too in how my daughters engage the world; connecting with people and making choices: our raising them with confidence and esteem and a belief in their abilities to think and feel their way through anything – be it a playground spider or feisty friendships.

It’s evident in Tea as she learns to crawl and knee stand and I learn just how important it is that she crawl this way, not that way, and hold her knee stand for a count of 3. Because these important basics are the foundation of successful walking, running and jumping.

All of us use foundations, those intentionally formed and meant to aid us as we move through life and, hopefully, progress, and the ones unintentionally created when we weren’t looking or paying attention to how things in our lives were taking shape. All of them, intentional or not, affect the course and outcome that we build from that these initial foundations.

In my life now, with the murkiness of a genetic disorder nearly settled and a sense that our Tea lives somewhere along the Autism Spectrum, I have decided to turn my considerable love and passion and fiestiness toward getting money in the hands of parents for assessing and funding their children with Neurological Disorders.

Today, I took the first step in building The Foundation. So named because I can’t close in on a name and that should be no reason to wait to get started.

Today I called my accountant, David Epstein of Kader Epstein and took the fist step toward identifying what it is that I don’t know about starting a foundation.  I believe that in order to get to where you want to go, you have to take a moment to unearth whether there are things about what you want to do that you don’t know yet you don’t know. For instance. I didn’t know that The Foundation can be set up Federally and doesn’t have to necessarily be set up Provincially as well. But see, this is just the tip of the iceberg. Having never set up a foundation before, all I know is what I know I know. I can’t even fathom many of the things I will learn and come to know.

So here we are, on day ONE. The day when I acknowledge there is more that I don’t know than that I do know, and were I sit happily knowing that I’ll only get smarter about this from here on.

Today, I begin the task of  assembling a TRIBE OF ADVISORS. People who know things I do know know, people I do not yet know, and how to do things I can never hope to know but can engage them in doing on my behalf.

Because you know what I DO know? It’s this: I was brought up with an exceptional foundation and believe that as a nation we can mobilize funds into the hands of families to change their children’s lives.

Have advice? Consider it solicited.

And to Nat, my sister in law who said just do and the rest will follow, here we GO baby! I love you.


Carry On, Warrior


I read in Carry On, Warrior that everyone is doing their best. And I try to remember that; often I succeed and it tempers the judgements and foul-thoughts directed at people who truly challenge the belief that “everyone is doing their best”.


My daughter is doing her best. She rocks it actually. She’s incredible and smart and vibrant and she will change the world.


I don’t always do my best. Sometimes I need to hide behind the pretense of alright-ness. Sometimes I need to eat my way through the day so that I am too busy with making meals and eating them to actually deal with pressing needs critical to my daughter’s well-being.


Sometimes, facing it makes me so weak I can’t hold up the phone; can’t open my mouth to speak.


Fortunately, most of the time, I am a warrior. I put my red boots on and let them do the walking because I know, God help me, I know I can’t walk on my own. Somehow these boots are magical….I wore them during labour and provided a comical delight to the nurses working the night shift on that blessed night that my daughter was born.


Today, I don’t even want to put the boots on. Because they make me do things and I don’t want to do things that force me to admit that more needs to be done.


So I came here to own these feelings because I know that owning them heals them; and strengthens me.  I hope that if you too, like me, need boots sometimes, you will find them.



brimming with love it soars and aches, this heart that’s made so many mistakes

longing for normal and damning the breaks.

its God in her, pure through and through, I feel it each moment I am near her.

So make me fierce and grounded and strong

I stand by her, for her.

prompt and inspire her

love and protect her, challenge and engage her.

Open the path and inspire me through, to reach and teach so that

through you

with you

because of you

we grow her into her most exceptional






A Birth Announcement.

ilovekiddeals sign upAfter an unusually long pregnancy that took place in my head, of all places, and that experienced a few complications, we have finally welcomed our newest baby,, to the world!

She is a lovely, bright, smart robust young thing that I know you’ll love as much as I do, and I hope you go see her soon. Her sister, who’s Canadian will be born in a few months.

A few years ago I was launching a startup, Kidscentive. It took much – much – longer than expected, cost a lot more money, and eventually failed to truly launch in it’s original conceptualization. I’m a wordy and a partnery, and a marketery but I am no techy and that hurt how my idea got off the ground. I made the mistake of not reading the blog of other entrepreneurs who’d failed quickly and learned a lot and launched again to great success. Those blogs I read after. Had I read them before I would have known a) not to aspire to perfection before going live and b) putting this into the universe is good, but keeping them close to the vest until the roots of your idea have taken hold is better.

But another thing also occurred: the market changed with the advent of group buying sites and changed the way businesses marketed themselves and the way people made purchases.

The e-commerce landscape experienced what I think can reasonably be likened to a tectonic shift since we got started starting-up and we needed to pay attention to what was happening rather than continuing to dig deeper into what we were already doing.  Internally, things got really busy – there was a lot of chatter and discussion, and research.  To the outside world however, it appeared that all had grown quiet and we silently went away.  We didn’t have a proper strategy for publicly pausing and re-directing, mostly because even we didn’t realize that’s what we were doing.

But there was also something else that was going on. I was mortified. Here I had gone and talked about what I was working on because I believe in putting things out into the universe and sharing my life with others, only to not walk my talk. Yes, we made provisions for the businesses in our program, giving refunds to those businesses who wanted to leave and upgrading everyone who chose to stand with us.  That business didn’t exactly make it to market. Instead, we paused, and listened, and learned. Then we pivoted – but I wasn’t about to tell anyone that! I’d made the mistake of talking too early.

I felt embarrassed and ill-equipped to manage questions and expectations. I also struggled with my partner (and husband) as we didn’t always see eye to eye. And, because I’m all about going all out – I got pregnant with Tea.

Now, Téa – our third of three wondrous daughters is two years old and has come into the world to join our family.

For me, this business is like a part of the family because we live and breath it. It occupies a piece of my brain just as thoughts of the girls do all day until they are asleep in their beds. Work-talk will trickle into family time. How the day went with will affect how patient, attentive, and connected I am at home just as when I worry or am consumed by anything to do with the family (pets included) will affect how well I can focus or think at/about work.  I think this is part of the reality of life – the completely and utterly unbalanced part that we exist in most of the time.

Today, I introduce you to our newest baby because like all real deliveries, it does us women good to share our birth stories. It is part of transitioning and engaging with this new version of ourselves. Before April 8th, I was the founder of a social group and a successful freelancer. Now, I am that and a little bit more.


Transitions Snaffu.

Yesterday’s post about entrepreneurs must have caused a ripple of confusion among those of you who read my posts because I’m clearly going in a new direction for this blog.

Until now, when I wrote it was about motherhood and the girls.  The thing is, increasingly I realize that there is quite a bit more I do and experience as a woman with young children who has a business, and I want to talk about that as much as I want to talk about the other stuff. Because life isn’t about one or the other – it’s about all of it.

Too often first time moms have asked me about working for themselves and how I balance it all (catalyst for the Complete and Utter Imbalance page).  Evidently, “work for yourself” has come to mean “dream job”.  Which it is, and isn’t.

So Wiggle Room is not about the social group Wee Wiggles, nor about the tales and tribulations of raising three daughters. It is about the wiggle room in our definitions about what it means to be a mother in this day and age when women are CEO’s, Entrepreneurs, Prime Ministers, Presidents and Business women, and professionals who also have children.

When Yahoo’s CEO, Marissa Mayer announced that she wouldn’t be taking leave for longer than a week or so, I ran off at the mouth in the privacy of my home…actually, come to think of it I think I posted to FB as well….about how it was ridiculous and the baby needed more of it’s mother.  I talked about how it would set back any progress the maternity leave advocacy groups in the US would make and that she was too inexperienced to know better.

Months later, I realize this is all about wiggle room. Who’s to say it’s not right for her and her child?I scrunched my nose at my own intolerance.  As the founder of Wee Wiggles I have met hundreds of moms of all types – the ones I understand most are those who like me love their kids and personally need (not financially need) to work outside the home. But I see and appreciate the diversity in what motherhood means to each of us….there is a lot to be said on this subject but that’ll be for some other post.

My mother’s philosophy is that it’s about the quality of time you spend with your child over the quantity of time. Others say, quality sorts itself out, it’s quantity that matters – they simply need us moms around.  I’m more of a quantity and quality person – until 7pm. After that, unless it’s an emergency ask your father or do it yourself!

So I’ve done here what I’ve done for clients for years: tweak things so that they are genuine and authentic and engaging for their clients (in my case, mini tribe of readers).

We’ll have articles and videos, guest posts and comment-debates about this wiggle room in the land of mom. I hope you’re in for the journey, and I hope you invite your friends.

Campaign for the death of “mompreneur”

Bet you’ve never met a Dadpreneur.  Nor a Papapreneur.

Seems this classification of people doesn’t transcend gender-typing.

Entrepreneurial men who have children are entrepreneurs.

Entrepreneurial women who have children are mompreneurs.

Wait, what? Once more…Entrepreneurial men who have children are entrepreneurs.  Entrepreneurial women who have children are mompreneurs.

Is there a reason for this? Yes. I’ll tell you what it is during my preceding rant.

Do women refer to themselves as the “m” word because they can’t decide whether they are a mom or an entrepreneurial person?  Is this their way of saying “don’t expect too much from me, heehee, I’m just a mommy playing at having a business”?

The word offends me; riles me up and fires me up because what you are saying to all of is that you can’t own that you aspire to more than motherhood; like it’s a shameful act to want to be a mother and a career woman too.

Someone who thought they were clever coined the term mompreneur has done a huge disservice to women.  Auto-correct on WordPress doesn’t even recognize the term, why should we?

Let’s be clear and start with likely the most important point to be made here: You don’t chose to be a full-time mom versus a working mom – we are ALL full-time moms. Some of us work at a job because we want to or need to or both. Some of us work as volunteers at schools, organizations, or sports teams because we want to and have the time to.

Some of us are even crazy enough to do both: be a full-time mom who has a business who volunteers at her kids’ school or run hugely successful social moms groups (thank you very much).

So let’s cut the crap: if you’re a woman who is a mom who also has a business, you are an Entrepreneur.

You are dismissing yourself and setting a hugely detrimental precedent by continuing to refer to yourself as the word I even hate to type.

Women who refer to themselves as momprenerus are not being enough of either, not the least of reasons why being that they don’t have the balls to stop being cutesy and actually get shit done.  To the rest of us, it signals that you are apologetic, uncommitted, and insecure. It means you are either not satisfied with your role as a mom and have an idea and a desire to add to it, or that you have an idea for a business or a product but you yourself don’t buy into its success.

So which is it?  All of us have felt like the Not-Good-Enough mother. All of us have felt that if only we could have more hours to work, or a clearer head to work we could really show the world what we’re made of, or advance a project that is dear to us or that could potentially change lives – if only our own.

Do Lawyers become Mowyers? Teachers Momeachers? Analysts Momalysts? What would it say to you about their skill, ability, commitment? Would you hire a Mowyer to represent you in court or oversee an important contract transacted or you would hire a Lawyer?

More on this.  The thoughts are ricocheting around in my brain much faster than I can type or make order of them…..

….we’re coming back to this one ladies.

Brand New Pain.

“She’s not brand new anymore, she’s just another kid!”

You love her more because she’s brand new and I’m not brand new anymore.

Not brand new. That’s what my 5 yr old shouted as we drove home from Chapters where we left a toy behind because the line was too long.

It took this moment of frustration and fatigue for her true feelings about being the eldest of three girls to come out to me.  My heart fell to my knees and my stomach fell clear out of me. Even her sister knew that this was big and to keep quiet and she’s just 3 yrs old.

I told her the only thing I could. That she was right. That her baby sister is just a kid, not a brand new baby anymore. And sad as I felt about the realization that my first born was hurting, I was equally saddened by the realization that  each will experience similar feelings of being loved-less than the others.

If it’s an exaggeration to say that every parenting book written tells you not to tell a child that you love them more I’d be surprised. My theory when I had my first child was that I would only love her that way. It was inconceivable to me that I could actually love more than one child. Then my second was born and I realized that just as she had grown in my body, so too there grew within my heart another little heart just for her.  I’ve said it repeatedly to all of them, you don’t share my love, I have a heart in my heart that belongs to just you – it’s for you and me and no one else and you don’t have to ever share my love.

And today I learned that some little ones need more. They need you to love them more because love leeches out of them faster than it might another child and their account of love needs to be filled more often, in more ways.

After getting her sisters out of the car I took a moment to place my hand on her heart and say:

You, my dear, are my first daughter. You made me my favourite thing to be: a mommy. I have known you the longest and I love the most and each day that passes I love you more because each day I know you more; and I will find a million ways to show you each and every day just how much I do love you and always, always, always will no matter how many brand new people come into our family.

And as her little soul seemed to expand and her body appeared to relax, I glanced up to heaven and said a silent prayer that I could heal the pain by being more mindful of my daughters need for loving reminders that no matter which brand new person is around, she doesn’t shine any less brightly.


What to really expect when you’re expecting

Go for it. Buy the cutesy pastel coloured pregnancy books. But read this short little ditty too.  It’s high time you knew what to really expect when you’re expecting- especially past month 5 – as you embark on this journey.

It all starts sweetly enough….

Month One

1. You likely won’t know you’re “in the family way” unless you’ve been peeing on a test since the day you had sex. So you’ll just feel sluggish and lazy and people will say, “damn, you’re lazy this week!”

2. You’ll find that your nose involuntarily scrunches at certain foods and you’ll have no idea why.

Month Two

1. You’ll fall asleep all over yourself.  Anywhere, all the time, no matter what.

2. You’ll likely experience nausea a week or two into this month.

3. You’ll continue to scrunch your nose, but now you’ll know why and you’ll be uber elated or cussing.

Month Three

1. You’re not fitting into your pants but you’re not really showing so you’ll just look fat. That’s right, don’t bother sticking your stomach out to “seem” more pregnant than you really are. That will come soon enough…at which point you’ll be sucking your stomach in so that people can say “wow, really? You don’t look 5 months pregnant!”.

2. You’ll buy your first pair of maternity pants. If you’re knew to this, you’ll also buy just about everything the store happens to sell. You’ll gleefully fill in your name, email, social security number and blood type when asked for it because you could win a $50 gift card if you spend $100 or more the next time you shop at the same store.  And do you know why you will do this and check off “YES!” to receiving special promotions from partners? Because if you fill in that little card, you get to also write in that you’re having a baby on a specific date. You’ll get to write that it’s your first…you’ll practically pee yourself from the sheer excitement.

If you’re a pro, you’ll buy the one pair that will take you from work to dinner and two top’s max and when that overly friendly sap at the store offers you the deal for next time just by filling in the form, you will stare her down with that “do I look new to this?” look you’ll have naturally cultivated after receiving call after call and parcel after parcel of unwanted crap at home because you didn’t know better than to fill in the form that first time.

3. You’ll browse baby things here and there now that your head isn’t framed by the toilet and if you’re a first timer, you will buy a bevy of books on the subject of being pregnant, eating right when pregnant, exercising when pregnant, having sex while pregnant (in month 7 you’ll be seeking out that book on how to tell your husband he’d have more luck convincing a nun to have sex), naming your baby, baby proofing, and what gear you must, must, must, must have.

Month Four

1. You’ll sign up for every permutation of prenatal class there is and then only attend about 40%-60% of the sessions. Unless they were reaaally expensive. The lesson here is of course, spend a lot of money to ensure you go, or alternately, go for the cheapy classes so you don’t feel as bad for blowing them off to eat your way through the evening.

2. You’ll feel pretty darn great and excited and you’ll look good too unless you’ve been indulging in all the chocolate and fries you’ve been craving.

Month Five

This month is the same as month four. Read that one again.

Month Six

1. You’ll be aware that you should have been doing kegels at this point. You’ll also notice that your thighs and ass are rather rounded.

2. You’ll begin to think about the nursery and what you’ll need to bring baby home in. You’ll shop around for strollers, debating with yourself over the delux version – because your baby deserves the prettiest/coolest/most novel stroller, car seat, high chair, crib – or the model that does what it needs to do and has a big basket underneath without the fancy price tag. GO WITH THE BIG BASKET STROLLER. Go with the lightest stroller you can find. Go with the one that folds umbrella style so that you can actually fit it and other things in your trunk. In fact, don’t buy a stroller without discussing this with me first!

Month Seven

1. Your belly will look a little less cute a whole lot more, WTF?  Even the maternity clothes won’t be so cute anymore and if you are among the lucky ladies who have no choice but to ‘let ’em rip‘ the smell won’t embarrass you anymore. You’ll just shrug and tell people to walk away if they don’t like it.

2. You’ll be happy the day of delivery is coming and probably fend of the occasional panic attack if you’re prone to them. Your husband will start to stress as he realizes that a) he’s now officially a family man in the making, b) he’ll have another mouth to feed, c) you’re going to continue to be a bitch for another two months and then lead him through the tango of post-postpartum depression.

Month Eight

1. You’ll pee your pants each time you cough, sneeze and sometimes – just for the fun of it – simply for shifting position.

2. You’ll find that the baby effectively kicks you out of your own body and takes over. You will be able to identify personally with every alien movie wherein an alien bursts from the midsection of a human.  Those little “Awwwww”‘s you used to let out in month 5 and 6 whenever the baby moved or kicked will turn into “cut it out!” as you force a little foot, elbow or knee back “inside”.

3. Your husband or partner will become a good for nothing piece of sh-t (except my husband, who still rocks*) who did this to you and deserves all your rage…so you won’t feel badly for yelling, complaining, or being generally short tempered. Come to think of it, anyone who does anything that is not precisely as you would like it to be will be entirely at fault for said egregious action. Poor, poor you, dealing with these stupid people.

* A word about my husband. I’ve had the flu for over two weeks and before that experienced the torture of a dislocated and rotated pelvis which had me bed ridden for three weeks. This means that for essentially the last 5 weeks my husband, Al, has had to take over a TON of stuff with the girls, the house, work, the dog, feeding us and getting everyone where they need to be when they need to be there. So while I am within my god-given right to be awful given that I am 8 months pregnant with the flu, a sinus infection, and a still painful pelvis…I have to give it to him. He’s been a champ and I love him. But don’t tell him because he may use this against me somehow at sometime in our marriage.

Month Nine

[I probably ought to disclaim that I hate this month, so the tone may be more aggressive here. When you’ve hit this month you’ll know why]

1. By now you may have hemorrhoids (that’s when a piece of your lower intestine or bowl – feel free to correct me) hangs out of your ass.

2. You won’t see your vijayjay which means you can’t groom for the big day so someone will have to do it for you. This is more important than you think.  On the day you deliver, everyone will have stared at your lady parts before the delivery is through – the nurses, residents, students, your doctor or whatever doctor was on call and hell even the janitor if they happened to come in to remove the trash from your room.  Your only saving grace will be to look like you’ve got at least something put together as your face contorts in pain and you cuss everyone around you. So go get groomed. Besides, if you tear you’ll want as clean an area down there as possible AND when you bleed for weeks afterward, the clean up is muuuuuuch nicer if you don’t have curdled blood in your public hair.

On that note, I leave you to find a lovely lady who’ll do a Brazilian and have a great sense of humour while doing it.