The lighter side of pregnancy, I: I have a beard

I did promise to return and give light-hearted pregnancy updates as and when they occurred to me - as opposed to agonising updates covering mental health and existentialism - and I have one today.

I'm sure some of you are sick of hearing about my pregnancy symptoms. Heck, I'm sick of hearing about them. But get this.

Last night I had finished brushing my teeth and was examining myself critically under the flourescent tube that looms over the bathroom mirror, when I noticed something. Turning to Simon, who was gravely brushing his own teeth while reading a book (a fascinating habit, which sometimes sees him brush his teeth for more than half an hour), I said,

'Could I get you to look at this?'
'Loo' a' wha'?' he managed.
'This. My jawline. I seem to be growing a pregnancy beard. Don't you think?'
He started laughing then quickly spat his toothpaste, I presume to prevent choking.
'Have I always had this? Tell me the truth!'
He laughed and laughed. And then said, 'No you haven't always had that. But I must say, it's a fine set of whiskers.' And then sauntered out, giggling. (It wasn't that funny.)

So I followed him. Many people assume that having a GP in the house at all times must be a great advantage, and indeed it can be when one wants to, I don't know, take one's own blood pressure with a fancy blood pressure machine. (I do this most days.) It can also be handy when there is an urgent need for a prescription, such as when a dog we were looking after was savaged and needed antibiotics, and Simon just wrote a child-size prescription so we wouldn't have to pay vet fees. For many other situations, however, having a GP in the house is just infuriating.
'Will it go away?' I asked my GP-partner-man-boy, who looks after numerous pregnant women every day with what I assume is a professional attitude. He just laughed.

'Simon, will my beard go away?'. More cackling.
'SIMON, AM I A BEARDED LADY FOR LIFE?' He sobered up.
'Well,' he began. 'It really depends on how your homones settle after the birth. The whiskers might go away, they might not. Some women have grown really impressive beards after being pregnant.'
I was horrified. 'Have any of the mothers that come into your clinic had a beard?'
'Oh, sure. The other day I saw one lady who had dyed hers rainbow colours.'
I saw the glint in his eye. 'You're lying, right?'
He couldn't help it. 'Yeah.'
'So my beard is temporary?'
'Definitely.' We both started laughing at that point.
'And I think it looks good on you anyway. You're a hot bearded pregnant lady.'
(OK, he didn't say the last part, but he would have if he'd thought of it, I'm sure.)

So I am temporarily a bearded lady. The hairs are fine and blonde (another anomaly - I am as brunette as they come) and long and numerous. Just another experience to add to the list of weird bodily experiences, I guess. And now everyone reading this will examine me closely and not necessarily covertly when we next meet - hopefully by then I won't have resorted to combing or braiding or dyeing my whiskers, but you never know. He might have been lying about lying, after all.