Sorry for the long absence my blogtastic friends, I have been a little under the weather and on so much cold medication that every thing I tried to write came out a little Jefferson Airplane Starshippy, so I figured I’d just save my those thoughts for a spoken word album or something.
I don’t know about you guys but I’m an avid royal watcher. I was pleased a punch that the new little Prince made his appearance this week. All the hubbub and framed announcements on royal easels was terribly exciting. It’s not everyday that a bonafide future king is born. All the hype got me to thinking about when my own kiddos made their debut into this world; sweet, terrifying, and messier than I’d imagined.
Childbirth is a great equalizer of men, errr… women. Women have been doing it since the beginning of time, and childbirth has managed to suck equally between the classes. Princess Kate has lived a fairy tale, commoner who fell madly in love with prince, got married and lived in a castle. The End; nope, there is the nasty business of birthing an heir to tend to. While I’m sure the future queen will have no shortage of assistance with child raising; nannies, tutors, chefs, maids, exorcists…. So she probably won’t get so fed up with her motherly duties that she lies to the Prince about running to get milk, and instead treats herself to a nice steak dinner, alone. However, there is no way of delegating the birthing portion of motherhood, trust me I’ve tried.
In the business of birthing, HRH has no advantages over the char woman laundering the royal bed linens. (Char women, do they still have those. My idea of England is heavily influenced by Charles Dickens, a little Doctor Who, but a whole lot of Dickens) This is why I have decided to write the Duchess a little letter of condolence and advice. Besides, every mother believes her child to be a prince or princess, so I’m super qualified to give royal advice. It would go like this.
Dear Princess Kate,
Congrats on the birth of your little Georgie. Also congrats on being about to walk down those steps in front of the hospital the day after you gave birth, you even wore heels, how nice for you, I myself wore two different flip flops for a week before I realized it, and another week after I realized it.
I was so sorry to hear about your ripped nether region, you should trying putting a frozen pack of peas in your princess panties, it will help a lot. Just be careful to remember to defrost a different pack if you are ever making chicken pot pie for the church pot luck, I’ve.. umm… heard that would not be a good idea. You’ll walk like a plow hand for a few weeks, but it’ll get better…eventually; and your lady bits will go back to normal, more or less.
I doubt you’ll get such advice from the queen, but it would probably be a good idea if you bought stock in a small but reliable panty liner manufacturing corporation. Your bladder will pretty much never be the same again, and you don’t want to be laughing (or coughing, or sneezing, or standing, or lifting something) at the Turkish Ambassador’s joke and piddle a little on your throne. Wars have been started by lesser occurrences.
You’ll be extremely hormonal for a while, so it would be best if you didn’t make any important decisions (i.e. OFF WITH HIS HEAD) until you are completely better; beheadings are hard to undo. The doctor will probably give you a little pill to make you feel better, take it, take all of them, then beg for a refill. Trust me, rage doesn’t look good on a princess, and you don’t want to accidentally mouth off to your inlaws have them put you in the stocks.
You are the future queen of England: graceful, poised, delicate, charming… so I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you that you actually did poop on the delivery room table. Everybody saw, but they were just too polite to say anything. In a few years one of the nurses will sell her story to the tabloids, probably with a few bootleg cell phone pictures too, but it’s ok you’ll be able to have her beheaded by then.
Hope you are doing well,
p.s. Oh and don’t worry the hemorrhoids will go away. (Yeah just keep believing that, sister. Denial will help with the post partum depression)
p.p.s If you find any of the love letters I wrote Prince William when I was 15, sorry I was young, our imaginary relationship has been over for a long time.
p.p.p.s No matter how hard you try to keep your little one looking nice, neat, and princely this is inevitably how they always turn out.