Why is it that pregnant women are suddenly privy to details of other people’s labours whether they like it or not?

A few days ago I indulged in a pamper day at a health spa. (Well, everyone keeps telling me I need to relax as much as possible while it’s possible). Anyway, I was lying on this heated bed (very nice) while some beautiful lady rubbed yummy smelling oils into my shoulders when she started recalling the intricate details of her labours. There were two. They were not pleasant.

I don’t know what it is that makes it ok to be at the receiving end of someone’s descriptive analysis of the 20 hours plus it took them to produce their child but it certainly wasn’t pleasant.

As well as the fact that I barely know this person and suddenly I am left with images that, well, I wouldn’t want of anyone not least a near stranger, where’s the logic in telling a newly pregnant person the completely undignified way this part of the journey is going to end?

It’s not just beautician woman who has shared her innermost thoughts on labour. Friends, family, in fact anyone who’s been there, done that and got the blood-stained t-shirt apparently feels it’s their duty to recall their own experience to me now that I am doomed to the same fate.

Caesareans, pain relief, lack of pain relief, bodily functions, stitches. Ok I’ll stop now, but you get my point.

I’m not naïve enough to think if I shut my eyes and hold my hands to my ears that somehow I’ll immunise myself against the inevitable. And I get that like any good scout (albeit for different reasons) you need to be prepared.

But there are some things about people you never need to know. Ever. And labour – notoriously one of the most undignified, gruelling and harrowing experiences of a woman’s life – is one of them.

So next time a mother feels the urge to divulge the details of her labours, don’t. Realise it is one of those things better left unsaid. And if you’re pregnant and at the receiving end of such a tale, shut your eyes and hold your hands to your ears. In this case, i’d opt for ignorance being bliss. For the next few months at least.

Oh and by the way, I have decided that from the moment I started wanting to eat a packet of Quavers for breakfast my crisp love can officially be classed as a craving. I have well and truly succumbed. Well, what can I do? It’s out of my control…