Right, it’s time to put operation GLAM into action.
Oh, did I not mention this before? I’ve invented a new programme and its fab. It might catch on, and then I’ll release a DVD and make a wheelbarrow full of cold hard cash. It could happen. Basically, I have decided that I’m not going to be one of those bedraggled mummies that you see in baby’s first photo album. You know the ones? Think bed-head and panda eyes and you’re in the right ball park. They clutch their new-borns looking like they’ve been dragged through a bush backwards, sans makeup. But that won’t be me. Oh, no!
Look, I’m not delusional. I know labour is going to be hard. And long. I finally brought myself to read the last few chapters of ‘What to Expect when You’re Expecting’ last week, and it wasn’t pretty. This baby is going to rip out of my nether regions no matter what I do. I get it. But who’s to say I can’t look my best whilst doing so?
Now, some people have a birth plan. Each to their own. I have a GLAM plan. You see, there are certain steps that a mum-in-waiting can take when the signs of labour begin. Like the scouts say, ‘always be prepared.’ OK! So, I’ll give you a quick run-down.
G is for Gel nails. No matter how rough labour gets, these bad boys will not chip. Now, luckily, Emer’s day spa package a few weeks ago covered this, and I had a quick top up coat done yesterday. The hot pink beauties are looking glorious, if I do say so myself. It would take a blow torch to crack them. No-one wants to visit a baby and have to look at the mother’s ragged cuticles. I mean, come on! Mishka at the salon even did my toes also, as I can’t even reach my feet anymore. They will look great in my peep-toe black fluffy kitten heel mule slippers as I totter about the maternity ward doing whatever it is that mothers do. I bought and packed a dressing gown to match too. So pretty!
L is for Lovely Locks. I’m lucky that, unlike Emer, I’ve gone into labour at home and I’ve time to preen myself. Believe me, I’m thanking my lucky stars. My roots were expertly done last week, so all I need to do now is to sculpt my hair with enough hairspray to ensure that it doesn’t move an inch from my head.
A is for Apply the slap. I don’t just mean put a bit of lippie on. God forbid! I’m talking a full face of makeup here, people. Labour could last hours. Days, even. I could sweat profusely. I could cry. The makeup needs to be applied with a shovel and powdered to cement-like proportions so that it stays on. Three layers of lipstick need to be applied, followed closely by a lip coating to make sure it’s going no-where in a hurry. What’s more, I could really use another layer of tan. I hear those harsh fluorescent lights they have in hospitals are not in the least but flattering. I strip down to my pants and flick open the tanning cream. Don’t worry, I won’t go overboard. I don’t want them to think I’m some Essex wag with a bun in the proverbial oven.
M is for Medication, and lots of it. My first word when we arrive at the hospital will be ‘epidural’, and I won’t tolerate any flitting about in that regard. I want to be dignified and pain free. Barry is under strict instructions to speak on my behalf if I’m in too much agony. We have devised a clever hand signal and everything. It involves a middle finger.