Ladies are supposed to be good at multitasking, right? Right. So, today the estate agent come over with a couple to view our flat, so I left the flat in a hurry for my (supposed) daily walk. I struggled up Primrose Hill, having bought myself a copy of The Times and a bottle of water from Tesco.
I sit quite contentedly at the peak on a bench. The dog next to me tries to hump another dog (but the owner squeals: “you’ve got it all wrong, he’s a boy too Baxter!”). I flick through The Times, but the wind does more flicking than I do. I wonder what else I can do on top of Primrose Hill, and how I can burn an entire 30 minutes (having left my iPhone at home as I left in a hurry).
Then I knew what I should be doing...
Inhale... SQUEEEEZE... Exhale... Release... *repeat*
The pelvic floor exercises are meant to be a part of the daily routine for a pregnant lady, if there’s any chance of a sex life after Jellybean emerges from the world. I’m not sure if midwives mean the man will be too put off by the constant wee seepage or if they’ll be turned off by the hotdog down a hallway sensation. Neither is entirely attractive, so I try to push it up to the next level.
Inhale... Squeeze... Squeeze a bit more... & SQUEEEEZE like you’re trying to squash out a cocktail sausage... Exhale... Release bit by bit... *repeat*
When I finish, I realise that I was probably making some weird faces (not to mention the weird breathing I’d been doing over the past few minutes). I look up to see the two American ladies looking at me. Maybe they know what I was doing. Maybe they just happened to be looking in my direction whilst I looked at them.
Either way, I got up off the bench, rubbed my belly as though it was causing me discomfort, and started waddling down the hill.