What a waste of £45. You’ll be unsurprised to discover that reflexology didn’t prompt the birth of our son. The woman was very nice (she brought her own massage table and relaxing flute music), Emily found it to be a pleasant experience, but there wasn’t exactly a sudden gush of waters or the start of contractions. Or any other result whatso-fucking-ever. Maybe I’m being unreasonably impatient, but it seems to have been a waste of time.
Mind you, on the subject of new age birthing nonsense, my colleague Sean sent me a beautiful, inspiring
birthing dance poem that he found on the web. Now that reflexology has failed us, maybe the mysterious powers of
middle-eastern belly dancing could help Stan on his way?
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