It’s official. I am now too big to shave. It is now impossible to deftly manoeuvre around a slippery tub, sharp razor and soft bits in hand.
I can’t comfortably reach down to tend to my legs; leaning to one side is perilous enough on dry land, never mind the shower. I can no longer see my girl bits to groom them, so I rely on feel to de-fuzz. I actually use a battery-operated trimmer to give the ol’ girl a nice fade, but that takes time, a mirror, and the ability to bend. As I mentioned, I’m unable to do the latter, so I just sort of aim the trimmer in the general direction of the nether regions and hope that I don’t lop anything off. Imagine trying to skin a peach with a knife while blindfolded and you’ll kind of understand what I’m working with, here.
Pre-pregnancy, and up to about a month ago, I was always pretty well-groomed. Clean pits, smooth legs, and nicely landscaped. Now the boy and I have an agreement: he gets one hair-free thing at a time, not all three at once. Meaning, I will shave my pits today (the easiest), my legs the day after tomorrow – or the next, and maybe I’ll get to the good stuff by the weekend. At this size (damn fibroids), it takes too long to do a full sweep while I shower.
I’ve had waxing suggested to me more than once, but since I can’t see my bird, I can’t be vigilant about ingrowns. And to be honest, getting my legs waxed just sounds like an unnecessary expense and torture. I had my underarms done once, years ago at my friend Jenn’s tanning salon. Actually, make that underARM. One. She started with the right side, and when she yanked the hair out it hurt so bad that I broke out in a sweat on the left side of my body. I refused to let her near me to finish the other one.
Pretty soon all of my self-grooming is going to be relegated to the upper regions. I guess I’m just going to have to enlist the boy to finish up down below.