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June 22nd, 2005

More medical, or possibly administrative

Dr B won't see me, and I refuse to see Dr C because she has already said that she couldn't see anything wrong with me prior to the perineal repair that meant I regained continence and no longer needed codeine to get through the day. That's unfair - what she said was that although there might be something wrong, she didn't know enough to tell, what with natural varation and so on. So anyway, I have an appointment with Dr D on the 28th, I think, of July.

If she persists in telling me there's nothing wrong, I will ask her what if Rob couldn't have sex because every time he tried he got an excruciating pain in his penis and had to curl up into a ball and cry, instead. There's no male tampon analogy, but the sex one is pretty universal. Anyway practically no-one thinks that being able to take my daughter to swimming lessons while I'm having a period is important. Hah.

Bitter? Me? I'm not bitter. I'm pissed off.

OK, and bitter.


Nappies and talking

It occurred to me, today, that we have been misjudging all those mothers in the 1950s who slapped their daughters' hands away from their vulvas, crying "No! Dirty! Mustn't touch!" (read your Nancy Friday).

Maybe they weren't lunatic anti-sex frigid oppressors. Maybe they just hadn't washed all the poo off yet. Because I had a bit of serious hand-containment to do today, and I felt bad that I might be sexually repressing her even at this early age. I read far too much popular psychology and self-help as a teenager. And someone should write something about the epidemics of Maternal Paranoia and Feminine Self-Doubt.

Also, it's hard to change a nappy by an open window when there are planes overhead; she wriggles over, "Da! Da!" and points at the ceiling, "Da! Da!" and tries to see.

And today she said something that means "Garden". All the consonants are a variant of D, but the vowels were unmistakeable. When I asked her if she wanted to go into the garden, to check I'd understood it, she said "Ya!"

She says "Allo" a lot, too - sometimes the L is there, sometimes it's not. L is hard.

(And I have apologised to Rob for talking about his penis in my last entry. He says he doesn't mind.)


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