Bite me

They will try to scare you with all possible means.
All of them.
Things to worry about will be thrown at you from all angles imaginable.
And than all angles unimaginable.

For instance.

There is this little thing called transition, somewhere between the first and second part of labour, that supposed to be the worst ever pain known to humankind. Until you hit crowning and than it supposed to turn up a notch, where the humble vagina becomes the ring of fire. Thank you.

But back to transition. The woman who runs our antenatal classes tells us that our man at this stage should just step away from our labouring selfs, for we become unpredictable to the point of dangerous. Our other half should run for your life.

Our pretty faces will twist in furious anger.
Our cherry lips will spill abuse.
And we will hit and we will bite.

Or we will withdraw into some cocoon filled with pain and motionless silence.

I told the man, that I find it a bit unfair that she constantly keeps on adding to the black list.
He though the biting was over the top as well.

I know that I have myself a real man.
And I know that he loves me for real.

He just looked me in the eye, and said: Babe, it at that point you feel like you need to bite me, than you bite me, ok?

Fuck yeah.