Remember when we were in matric we always looked forward to celebrating 40 days. That day that says the end is near. You still had to go through the Matric final exam and pass it, but we all celebrated like crazy on 40 days. 40 Days to the end of High school. We saw it as a major achievement. We survived twelve years of school!

Well, I follow this app on my phone regarding my pregnancy and it counts the days till due date. When I hit the hundred day mark, I thought to myself that I am going to celebrate my 40 days before becoming a mom. 40 days came and it was the worst day of my pregnancy. I have an easy pregnancy. My only problem was that I listened to so many people with regards to labour. Some even gave their opinion who hasn’t even gone through it yet. I was scared beyond myself for this experience, until I went to see my own doctor last week and when she described how she will handle it, I burst out crying with relieve. It was exactly how I wanted to be handled and all the fear left!

I have a theory about having a bump: people see you with your bump in the streets and it is apparently the best conversation invitation ever. They just walk up to you and talk, while you are in the middle of trying to figure out the fastest way to a loo, because at that moment,  labour is not your reality,  but a full bladder is. I found that my town is filled with politics. You see, our gynaecologist left a couple of years ago due to some more politics. We don’t have cinemas so this is how we entertain ourselves in a small town, through gossip. Him leaving created two camps, those who go over the mountain to have their babies there and those who stay here with the local GP.

Both camps defend their reasons and somehow completely forget that never mind who brings the baby into the world, a new life is coming into the world. Then there is the other two camps: How are you going to give birth. Goodness. This morning I just realised how opinionated people can be about something that truly has nothing to do with them. If I decide to have my baby on the moon, it really has nothing to do with anybody else accept maybe my husband, who has to pay for the ticket to the moon.

Anyway,back to my 40 days. My dogs decided that the new scent that they want to use to attract the sassy poodle across the street, is dead seal. So this past Wednesday,my 40 days day, my preggo nose could smell them all the way in their kennel outside my house from my bed. I had to take them to the parlour, loaded them in, and off I went to start my day. I had a visit with a friend, saw hubby for lunch and decided to repaint my living room, went to the hardware store to buy paint, all while waiting for their spa day to end. Then at 2 the afternoon, I could go and pick up the two.

While driving there, my nose started to bleed. I drove a little faster just to be able to get to out of the busy road and to stop and do something about my nose. I did and for the next 25 minutes I tried to stop my nose from bleeding. Nothing worked. Blood was streaming down my face, making puddles in my car. I phoned Stoffel at a stage where I was already very dizzy from all the blood. He had to leave his work to come and help me and I don’t think even him could have been prepared for what he was about to see. I looked like somebody attacked me and my car was full of blood and it did not stop.

I was parked in front of the doggie parlour, trying my best to just get out of the car, 8 months pregnant and losing blood. And this is where I love small towns: I am a friendly person and make friends wherever I go. The ladies at the parlour became my friends and one, by chance, looked out of the window and saw the scenario with Stoffel trying to get the blood to stop and me drenched in my blood. They ran outside with a bucket full of cold water and threw the water over my head. Now I am drenched with ice cold water, blood, 8 months pregnant and desperately need to go to the loo, because my bladder registered that I am covered with water and saw it as a sign that a loo must be near.

And still the bleeding did not stop, I was wearing white clothes and it is winter.

I was ushered inside and towards the place where they bathed the dogs, and before I knew it, I was sharing a bath tub with an Alsatian looking exactly how I felt. And then came more ice cold water. Eventually, the bleeding stopped and the alsatian and I were both extremely relieved.

Stoffel drove me home and then took my car to be washed, where he had to explain that no, he did not hit his wife and these puddles of blood really came out of her nose. At home, the guy painting my house, needed something from the hardware store, so I changed, tied my wet hair in a pony and off I went armed with enough tissues. Amazing how life is, but as I got to the hardware store, there was only one till open with a long line of people waiting and the rest of the workers, who were suppose to work, were using the other till to buy ice cream on credit and taking forever to decide.Another problem with small towns are they really are not as big on service as in the city.

And then I lost it. One advantage of a belly is people, especially men, do listen to you when you start to explain in detail, arms flying that you are 8 months pregnant and unless they want to see me giving birth right here, they better hurry up and choose their ice cream and get back to work. The manager heard me and came out of his office, thanked me for communicating the bad service, and soon every thing was working as it should, with a couple of famers trying their best not to laugh at me.

And what did I do? I paid, kept my head high, walked out of the store and in my car driving home, I burst out laughing.

My 40 days.

Yesterday I watched a clip of Trevor Noah where he explained the power of comedy. I truly experienced that on my 40 days. Yes, I was humiliated and scared when the bleeding did not want to stop. Yes, there can be thousands of reasons why it happened to me, all very negative, but at the end, I am fine and I swallowed my pride and had to laugh at life.

This morning I realised that is just that. We try and control life, so scared that if we don’t we will loose ourselves. That is why all the fearful labour stories and ways to prevent it, even from those who hasn’t gone through it, flood to you when you are about to go through it. The reality is and this is where I love God, trust is key. He meets you where you are at and if you could just unclench your fist from all that you are trying to control and laugh at the silly lies, you will be fine.

TB taught me this. It is a dark, dark place when you do not know if you will live or die. Even darker than labour, in fact labour is not dark and there is the hope of a beautiful baby at the end. During my walk with TB, the only thing I had was my trust in God. And it turned out fine. I am sometimes so amazed at people that really go through difficult times and still enjoy life. They laugh at their struggles, knowing that their trust is what pulls them through.

At the end, with your faith in God being set, you will be ok. So laughter after all, is the best medicine.

Have a lovely weekend.


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