Sunday, April 06, 2008
In need of a pedi-cure!
7 months and counting, and as fascinating as this pregnancy as been so far, there are times when I am ready for the baby to hurry up and get here! Like when I'm trying to nap in the car on a road trip this weekend, and the little one decides it's a perfect time to wiggle around in my tummy so that I can't sleep, or when I've laid down to go to bed at night, and the blessed one kicks me (or punches me- I can't really tell which) so hard that I scream out loud, waking up others nearby who are enviously already asleep- or were, as the case may be!
Sometimes the baby interferes with a DIVA's beauty regime- like, for example, not being able to use and cleansers or face creams with acne-fighting salisylic acid in them throughout the pregnancy, or being recommended to stave off hair colorings for the first 3 months when one is already in desperate need of a coloring pre-pregnancy. Today's experience was another first. I had been putting off attempting a pedicure since my last professional one mid-February, and the grown out nails and polish finally got to me today so I resolved to pamper my pups.
First things first- taking off the old polish. This proved to be as difficult as I had been imagining it to be, thus my valid reason for putting off this chore for so long. I propped my feet up on the edge of the stool on which I was sitting and proceeded to lean over and swab the cotton-soaked pad over my toes. Several laborious minutes and many gasps of breath later, the nails were clean. You cannot imagine the difficulty this once-simple task of taking of toenail polish could be when one is manuevering around a protruding belly, and bending over said belly cutting off one's breath supply! Let me just say I should have taken Ari's advice to let her paint my toes for me, but for my own stubborn pride's sake, I just had to attempt to tackle the task myself.
Several more gasping breaths later, my toes were clipped, filed, buffed, and lotioned, and ready for polish. Then came the laughable task of applying two coats of pink polish to the nails. Because of my rotund tummy, I couldn't bend over far enough to get a close look at my own handiwork, so I relied more on sensory than sight to confirm my progress. When I finished, I could tell they weren't going to pass for a professional pedicure, and much to my chagrin, my own thoughts were confirmed by my sister when I thrust my flip-flopped foot in front of my sister and asked the hopeful question of "how do they look?" and she answered me with a "you should have let me do it."
Guess I will have to carve out some time and money soon to let the pros do their thing, because a DIVA cannot parade her tootsies around town in open-toed shoes in the spring with feet in such a shameful state!