My wonderful husband insisted that I get a massage last week. I was informed that I needed to specify "prenatal massage" when I made the appointment so they could be sure to have a certified specialist available for me. Because I am that special.
The massage, of course, was heavenly. The lights were dim, scented candles flickered on the shelf, mood music filled the air along with the aromas of luscious oils and lotions. She worked my back and shoulders, then wrapped my feet in hot towels. I confess, I might have drooled a wee bit on gigantic pillow supporting my head.
Naturally, I was on my side, since laying face down these days is akin to trying to balance myself on a watermelon. (A watermelon that squirms around and kicks when you put pressure on it.) At the midpoint of my session, my masseuse asked me to flip over to my other side.
Uh-huh. Right. First of all, I have one of the salon's gigantic pillows stuffed between my knees "for support." Just above that, there is the watermelon-belly, so I'm not exactly the most nimble person right now. Then there's the matter of the massage table. It's not wide. As a matter of fact, I'd call it "fairly narrow" or even "exceptionally narrow." It's not like I can just flip over. I have to turn, skooch, turn, skooch, turn, skooch, so I don't end up in a big heap on the floor.
Oh wait, yeah... a big naked heap on the floor. Let's not discount the modesty factor. I'm trying to keep my bits covered here as well. But as the gigantic pillow between my legs turns with me, it flaps the sheets around, and I'm only a few thread counts away from giving my 19-year-old masseuse with the pierced lip a huge eyeful. Poor girl. She didn't know whether to try to help or just avert her eyes and let me holla when I'm a bit more situated.
Turn, skooch, turn skooch... was that a breeze I just felt? Nevermind, keep moving! You're wasting valuable massage time with all this turning and skooching! Turn, skooch, turn, skooch. Gak! Pillow tangled in sheets! Disengage! Disengage! Still covered? Check. Keep turning! You're almost there! Turn, skooch, turn, skooch. Oh wait, you're only on your back. That's only halfway there. Stop flailing like a upside-down turtle and put your back into it. Heave-ho! Turn, skooch, turn, skooch.
Eventually, I made it to the other side. With my modesty intact, thank you very much. Total turning time? Probably about four minutes.
Can I get a little refund for that?
3 comments:
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...you lucky girl! Those tables are treacherous even without the belly...I congratulate you on even staying astride the flimsy thing!
at was freekin hilarious! You have such a good sense of humor! Glad you got a message!
if that was your experience, then you didn't really have someone "experienced" in prenatal massage. My therapist has a heavenly pregnant pillow that has a great big hole for my belly (and huge chest), so I can still be on my belly for a short time. She also "helps" me get situated by holding the sheet so my modesty is always protected. She also replaces pillows when I turn. Although, I must say, massages while pregnant, even mediocre ones, can help to keep sanity in an otherwise body-unflattering time. I always would just be floating for several days after I had one-which was not nearly enough. :-)
Post a Comment