With all the physical changes, I've had my share of body image troubles these past few months. So, when my husband bought me a mother-to-be spa package for Christmas, I was a bit concerned. I gushed over his thoughtfulness (because it was very thoughtful), and I commented about how wonderful I'm sure it would be (the Elizabeth Arden spas have an excellent reputation). As I scanned the list of included services--pregnancy massage, manicure, pedicure, facial, makeup--I tried not to cringe. For those of you who remember my baby shower paranoia, it's easy to understand how the idea of strangers touching and focusing their attention on me would (what's the word?) FREAK me out. At the time, I told myself, "I've got five more months to go; that's plenty of time to get used to the idea."
From then on, once a month or so, Tim would politely ask, "So, when are you going to schedule your spa day?" My prepared answer each time was, "As soon as I take care of ____, I'm so on it. It's really important that I take care of _____ this weekend, but after _____, I'll schedule an appointment."
That worked until two weeks ago, when I finally had to make my appointment. Tim planned to drive me to the spa but ended up coming home too late to take me. The drive was about 45 minutes long, and ten minutes from my destination, I realized I had forgotten the gift certificate (no, I didn't do it on purpose!). I didn't want to turn around and go home, because the spa would've charged me a late fee. I called Tim about 5 times to beg him to pick up the certificate, but I couldn't get a hold of him. The spa decided to check me in anyways, because they said my certificate was probably still in the system. After a few minutes, Tim showed up (his phone needed to be recharged, so he couldn't call me earlier)and fixed the situation.
At this point, I figured I had all the signs I needed that I shouldn't have come to the spa. But, I thought about how much Tim wanted it for me, so I dutifully lay down for my massage. I've only had a massage 2 other times in my life: the day before my wedding and two days after a major car accident. Obviously, it takes a traumatic event before I'll consider letting a stranger touch me. Both of those massages resulted in total muscle relaxation, but the journey there was painful. I mean, I made ridiculous faces the whole time because it felt like they were pinching me. I know they had to "work out" knots in my back, but it made my eyes bulge to endure it.
The masseuse at the spa was soft-spoken, and with the candles and all, it felt more like I was going to get my palm read than my back worked on. She told me, "Today's massage is like a Swedish massage." I'd never had a Swedish massage, so I didn't know if she was warning me or trying to assure me. So, I gripped the pregnancy pillow and prepared for pain.
From then on, once a month or so, Tim would politely ask, "So, when are you going to schedule your spa day?" My prepared answer each time was, "As soon as I take care of ____, I'm so on it. It's really important that I take care of _____ this weekend, but after _____, I'll schedule an appointment."
That worked until two weeks ago, when I finally had to make my appointment. Tim planned to drive me to the spa but ended up coming home too late to take me. The drive was about 45 minutes long, and ten minutes from my destination, I realized I had forgotten the gift certificate (no, I didn't do it on purpose!). I didn't want to turn around and go home, because the spa would've charged me a late fee. I called Tim about 5 times to beg him to pick up the certificate, but I couldn't get a hold of him. The spa decided to check me in anyways, because they said my certificate was probably still in the system. After a few minutes, Tim showed up (his phone needed to be recharged, so he couldn't call me earlier)and fixed the situation.
At this point, I figured I had all the signs I needed that I shouldn't have come to the spa. But, I thought about how much Tim wanted it for me, so I dutifully lay down for my massage. I've only had a massage 2 other times in my life: the day before my wedding and two days after a major car accident. Obviously, it takes a traumatic event before I'll consider letting a stranger touch me. Both of those massages resulted in total muscle relaxation, but the journey there was painful. I mean, I made ridiculous faces the whole time because it felt like they were pinching me. I know they had to "work out" knots in my back, but it made my eyes bulge to endure it.
The masseuse at the spa was soft-spoken, and with the candles and all, it felt more like I was going to get my palm read than my back worked on. She told me, "Today's massage is like a Swedish massage." I'd never had a Swedish massage, so I didn't know if she was warning me or trying to assure me. So, I gripped the pregnancy pillow and prepared for pain.
Pain never came. It was all feel-good touchiness. I was warm and happy. She kept layering on lotion and oil stuff, and I never protested. I even forgot about my belly being so huge. When the massage was over, I reluctantly got up. I was given a glass of water (with some kind of floral essence voodoo-thing mixed in) and sent to the next consultant. There was little I wouldn't have agreed to by then, I think. Which was good, because the next part of my treatment required a move up on the weird scale.
No comments:
Post a Comment