It’s only a blowdry

Remember that time I stood up in front of an audience and performed a stand-up comedy routine while 39 weeks pregnant with Lark?

Let’s time-travel back to October 2023. You’re in the audience, watching a heavily pregnant woman take the stage, microphone in hand – with a mop and bucket on standby, just in case waters break.

There is something I should tell you….

I ate a whole tub of Ben & Jerry’s peanut choc ice-cream today because…

I’m pregnant.

I’m 39 weeks, also known as 9 months, which means there is a 60% chance that the baby will be born anytime now. Fingers crossed I make it through this set without needing a mop and bucket.

You see, the thing about pregnancy is

There is a saying…

The joys of pregnancy.

The JOYS of pregnancy.

The JOYS I’m still waiting to experience.

I’ve been waiting 9 months.

These so-called joys are a LIE!

The list of things I can’t do is much longer than the list of things I can.

I can’t drink whisky.

I can’t eat poached eggs or steak unless it’s charcoal offensive.

I googled a list of pregnancy safe exercises, and guess what was at the top of the list.

Not walking.

Not yoga.

The exercise at the top of the list THAT I can do safely is Not falling down.

Not falling down.

[PAUSE]

Which makes the next thing I can’t do especially dangerous. I can’t pick things up off the floor.

Look.

When I drop things, I need to initiative sumo wrestler mode.

[STOMP. STOMP. THROW SALT. HEAVE LOUDLY.]

Except instead of fighting another pregnant woman (who wouldn’t want to see that), I’m fighting a watermelon-sized human strapped to my waist and gravity. 

[STOMP. STOMP. HEAVE!!]

Not falling down.

I tried to find joy in all the ways the internet suggested. Do a puzzle. Eat healthy. Spend time thinking about labour. Oooooo so much JOY!

Imagine being out at a bar, and when the bartender approaches you order a pint of green juice with a side of carrot sticks and the best damn 1000 piece puzzle of Japan they have on offer. Ooo goodie.

The problem is, the only JOY I’ve been able to find is ridden with guilt.

Cheating on my hairdresser. Or as I like to call it, hairdresser polyamory.

Let me explain.

This is more likely to apply to the women in the audience because we spend hours at the salon. It takes a long time to find the one… 

The one hairdresser that cuts and colours your hair just the way you like it.

You must hold on to them with both hands when you find them.

And do nothing to offend them because they are rare and precious.

The thing about hairdressers is that they want an exclusive relationship with you. And…

They know when someone else has cut your hair

They know when someone else has coloured your hair.

Is that another salon’s shampoo I can smell on you?

What happened here?

Who did this to you?

What’s their name?

I first realised this the hard way, one Valentine’s Day, years ago when the office manager organised $35 blowdries at the salon over the road for a company event.

As I was innocently sitting in the chair, chatting and laughing with the other hair dresser. Who should pull up in the doorway, but my hair dresser on his red vesper.

The look of betrayal.

He looked at me. 

I looked at him.

He looked at me, and his lip began to quiver.

The mistress, hairdresser and I yelled out over the loud hum of the hair drier. It’s only a blowdry! It’s only a blow-dry. Turns out they were friends.

It was like cheating on him with his best mate on Valentine’s Day. The shame.

Next appointment cost $100 more than standard. The hair dresser equivalent of a break up.

I’ve since been experimenting with hair dresser polyamory. I have two hair-dressers, one who cuts and one who colours. They know about each other, but they don’t like it.

How’s she doing? Hmmm… How’s he doing? Hmmm.

I would never let anyone else cut my hair. Or colour my hair. But blowdries are a different story.

The problem is even with two hairdressers, my blowdry addiction is out of control and they’re not always in the mood / available for an appointment. I’m too ashamed to even admit the number of blow dries I’ve had since pregnant.

Every time I travel interstate… Blow dry.

Nothing quite like a blow dry on a business trip.

Girls throwing me a baby shower…. Blow dry.

Going to the Jurassic World Expo…. Blow dry.

I’ve had blow dries all around town.

I’ve lost count of how many blowdries I’ve had since pregnant.

In fact, I had a blowdry today….

They take the edge off, you know? I think clearly when I’m looking my best.

I can’t even remember the other hair dressers names…

But it doesn’t matter because it’s not like we go all the way. It’s only a blow dry! It’s only a blow-dry!!

Thanks everyone, great to see you. 

I’m going to go have a baby.