it’s nothing personal

Uuuugggggghhhhhhhhhhhh.

Ok. Now that I got that out….let’s talk about what that’s really about.

After you have a baby…your marriage takes a ginormous backseat.

At least this is what happened in my experience.

The life of phone calls just to say hi, ‘I love you’s’ after everything, lingering kisses and long talks morphs – overnight – into: gI’ve me the quick and dirty version all I want is the most pertinent information here’s a quick peck on the cheek I have to go, the baby is crying.

Your brain and your body is in a constant state of distraction and motion. There is always something to do and something to think about and something else to think about to try to remember to do at some point in the future (which may or may not ever happen, despite your best efforts, hello bag of dirty diapers that never made it to the trash)

The worst part?

Hubba bubba time.

(I was going to call it hubba hubba time but it autocorrected and that just sounded way better. Thank you, Apple…?)

More accurately, intimacy on all levels.

The hubba bubba time hasn’t happened since…..um…..before Kellan.

Whenever it *did* happen right before Kellan it was pretty much hostage sex with me all, “I need your sperm to soften my cervix!” and Tim all, “I can’t! It’s weird! THERE’S A PERSON IN THERE!” and then I’d shoot back, “And he’s going to STAY IN THERE UNLESS I HAVE YOUR SPERM!”

Completely romantic, right?

Point is, I wish someone would have prepared me for this part of post baby. I have zero percent interest in hubba bubba anything, mostly because the whole idea of doing THAT…with TIM?

WEIRD.

It’s been so long since I’ve felt…since I’ve been wooed and touched – and we’re talking simple things like a hug that’s longer than two seconds and Tim scratching my head or something…holding hands…simple things…it’s been so long that that intimate part of our marriage kind of feels lost. I don’t have those simple things and so the bigger things (hubba bubba) feel really distant and foreign and just…weird.

My entire world right now is diapers and boobies and crying and entertainment and teaching and enrichment with Kellan. I haven’t felt like my “old” self – the self that can look in the mirror and feel pretty or sexy – in a long time. First it was the giant belly and now I’ll look in the mirror and six times out of ten there is a boob hanging out that I forgot to put away.

I’m tired. I feel – and probably look – like I’ve been worn ragged and the intimacy has been lacking for so long that I’m just kind of in a state of autopilot at this point. Intimacy and Tim and me all seem like separate entities that I’m not sure how to link back together again.

Small steps…like I told Tim he needed to woo me again before all the hubba bubba started.

He laughed.

But I was serious.

I don’t think it is the same for him. He’s primed and ready to just hop right back on the horse while I’m still trying to find my old body and get over the idea that the vaj isn’t irreparably broken. And the hormones. OMG. The worst. I need to feel that love and intimacy again before I act on it……..

I’m sure this is all normal…and I know it will get better. I don’t want anyone to think I’m wallowing in a sea of self pity and sadness. I’m not. I’m actually really enjoying Kellan and making new mommy friends. This entire week has been full of activity for Kellan and me, meeting up with other moms for lunches and dinners, play dates and walks in the park.

I guess just a forewarning to those who have yet to have their first child: be prepared to lose a bit of what you had with your significant other for a little while when the baby first arrives. Understand that you’ll be so distracted and tired and worn down that you’ll forget about that part of your relationship where holding hands and being sweet and making the other person feel loved kind of gets shoved to the side.

I wish someone would have prepared me. That’s for sure.

And now the baby is crying….

a sleeper…hit

Yay for blogging motivation (aka YOU)! I feel like I’m one of those TV shows with a cult following but never really *makes it* to mainstream and gets canceled. Like Friday Night Lights. Best show ever.

So…a story for you.

Back since…well, forever…I’ve always been able to express myself better with the written word versus the spoken one. For some reason, even though I type just as fast – if not faster – as I talk, the words tend to flow better when I write. I get kind of stuck and tongue tied when I talk. I mean, actual, coherent words and sentences *do* come out…they just don’t sound as good. The flow I have when I write is missing.

Back in the day, I preferred to write notes to my middle school boyfriends versus actually talk to them.

Granted, I did *speak* to the boys. I just felt more comfortable asking/saying the harder stuff on blue-lined, college rule notebook paper.

Maybe it was a cop out…or immaturity…either way it continued through my adulthood. When it came to the m harder stuff, I wanted to write it out and have someone read it instead of facing then head on, in the moment.

It’s like I felt like I could get my whole point across without being interrupted or forgetting what direction I was trying to go.

Because that’s what would happen to me every. single. time.

I’m terrible in an argument or heated debate. Eventually I’ll mumble something unintelligible, which is probably everything my brain wanted to say in one, fast breath, and the other person will be like, “Was that even English??” And then I’ll be all, “I have no idea. You win.”

I guess my brain doesn’t flow very well in the heat of the moment. It sees colors and waves and those crazy little birds flying over my head in circles…but it doesn’t see words or have forethought or the ability to conjure up a solid defense. All that important stuff will come later, after I’ve already lost.

But give me a minute to write it out and I’ll blast your ass to the wall with a (written) verbal barrage of daggers. Or fluffy, furry baby bunnies. Whichever.

Depends on the conversation.

That was how I liked to handle things. It was safe. Easier. Something I was good at.

Enter pregnancy.

I decided I wanted to be able to express myself more freely…verbally. I didn’t want to leave all of my emotions on the paper. I wanted the person they were meant for the hear them and feel them…see them coming from my mouth and dancing all over my face.

Why did pregnancy do that?

I wanted Kellan to have a good example of how to verbally express his emotions…verbally express things that are uncomfortable, embarrassing or difficult to talk about.

Writing out your feelings is all well and good…but I’ve been learning that talking about and dealing with what is bothering you IN the moment is so, so powerful. SO powerful.

Is it harder that way?

A resounding YES.

Do you feel more satisfaction, more relief, more of a weight lifted off your shoulders when you air it all out in spoken words?

A deep, exhaling, goosefraba Yessssss.

Going to therapy a few years back showed me that. I guess it took having a lasting impact on another human….raising a child…made me want to put it into daily practice.

Except…(yes, I had to go here)…writing is like MY THING. I love, love, love sharing through writing like musicians like sharing through songs. It’s just who I am and to deny myself that is like telling me I could no longer do something athletic and competitive…like running. Granted, I am competing against myself versus another opponent like I did back in my basketball days, but, still. I sweat and I feel accomplished after a long run or a hard run or finishing a race I had trained for months to run.

My body and my psyche need that, live for that, crave that exhausted, sore muscle (in a good way) feeling…just like it does when it comes to writing.

I guess what I’m saying in a really roundabout, circuitous way is that I’m not going away.

where have i been?

I’m tired (always). Busy. Sole entertainment for the little man. Making friends outside cyberspace.

I’m also trying to decide what direction I want to go…with this blog, I mean. Obviously, the direction of MOMMY is probably the right way…the way I want to go…except…

I’ve been having these real, adult, grown up thoughts for the first time in my entire life.

Thoughts that maybe I don’t want my entire life…Kellan’s life…out there for the world to have access to. Maybe part of it comes from a few blog…trolls I think they’re called. The comments they leave are never published and the emails they send are never shared. But the mama bear in me gets all riled up and I start getting concerned for Kellan’s safety…and mine (Tim is the invincible man). I mean, I have to live forever. Duh. I can’t get hurt/sick/wounded. I have to *be here* for Kellan. It’s a realization I’ve never had before.

And this protection/survival mode is serious. We had a super fantastic security system involved over the weekend because, obviously.

Also? Lexi has 100% permission to rip the throat out of anyone who breaks in. If anything like that *did* ever happen, I’m hoping Lexi gets to them before Maddie because she’d just lick them to death. Sure, a stalling tactic but not something completely reliable.

And?

Is what I have to say really *that* important??? It’s not like I’m Dear Abby. It’s not like…I’m not *that* big of a deal. I’m not out here changing lives or adding entertainment value…am I?

dear kellan – month 3

We’re moving out of the fourth trimester!!! Yay!!!!

I really cannot tell you how excited this makes me. While we were at an impromptu doctor’s visit on May 16th, the pediatrician was all, “Almost three months!” and I was like, “Yay! Out of the fourth trimester!” And then he was all, “And everything gets better after that.”

Well, nothing is bad, really, but things are better as in: you are supposed to kind of “graduate” into wanting to interact with the world instead of seeing it as this big, confusing, sometimes scary place.

By the way, I learned at this doctor’s appointment that you caught your first cold. You had been coughing a bit and had some interesting, yellow, stringy boogers coming out of your nose…and green poo for a week. I would have rather been safe than sorry…though I still feel bad you got sick! Poor boo boo!

It’s been a busy month, so maybe you’re just worn out.

We met new friends, both our neighbors, Brian, Niki and little Luke, who is a little over a year old, along with Charlie and her daughter Annie, who is nine months old. You were really good when Niki held you for the first time and the second time, an impromptu get together in their backyard while they were cooking out, you FELL ASLEEP in her arms! Good job, boo boo!

As for Charlie and Annie, we’ve already had weekly play dates. Sometimes we go to their house and sometimes they come to ours. Either way, you love watching Annie toddle around. I have no idea if you will be like her and start walking and nine months…but whoa if you do. Mommy will never get anything done anymore! You’re already getting so much stronger. We’ve graduated from tummy time on the My Brest Friend (4/26 was the first time you did awesome at tummy time on My Brest Friend) and the Boppy to the floor. I don’t know what happened but one night you tossed and turned and slept horribly…and the next morning during tummy time you popped right up, head totally off the ground instead of the maybe-two-inches off the ground that you had been doing before.

I guess you figured it out…and then bam! Put it into practice.

You still only tolerate being in that position for a few minutes – at best – but at least you are strong enough to get your head all the way up! I’m so proud!

We’ve also gotten into a little routine with nursing. I’m really not sure how conducive it is for me to get anything else done, but at least it helps my still healing perineum get a rest. You love, love, LOVE to lay down and nurse. Once we figured that out…you really want to do that vs anything else. My Brest Friend? Fahghetaboutit. Why have my legs hanging off a nursing pillow when there is a perfectly good bed just calling NEE!!!

Oh, what is nee? It is your very own made up word for the food train (aka my boobies). When you say it, it sounds like knee but in a high-pitched baby voice. When I lay you down on the bed and you realize you’re about to sit down to a five course meal, you’ll start saying it over and over. It goes something like, “Nee! Nee! Nee! Nee!”

You also say “Nee!” when you’re really hungry…but it takes all the guesswork out of what you need, so I’m not complaining.

When we’re “neeing” you started this thing where you will lift up both legs when you’re latching, almost like it’s a requirement. Once “contact” has been made, you put one foot on top of the other and slowly lower them, usually onto my thigh, like it’s your own personal ottoman. You seem to like to put your feet everywhere…on my hands and arms while we’re sitting in the “poopy position” or up against my shin when we’re laying on the floor exercising. Well, you’re exercising. I’m just the referee. And by the way? My shins need a time out from all of that rapid kicking.

Another funny thing happening? Your hair is getting wavy! Your daddy had curly hair as a child, so maybe that’s where it is coming from. You definitely didn’t get that from me. My hair is straight as a stick. A really, really straight stick.

We noticed your hair getting wavy after baths. We’d try to brush it down and pieces just kept popping up every which way no matter what we did. And speaking of baths…you still don’t like them very much. You don’t scream *as* loud but there is still screaming. I took a bath with you (5/9/12) where we both sat in the tub together and you did much better, though you kept arching your back and trying to figure out how not to be in there and at the same time trying to decide if you liked it. It made holding and washing you quite challenging.

Then it was time to get out.

You didn’t like that part at all.

We’ve yet to try another together bath…but we will for sure…maybe when it is a bit easier for you to sit up on your own.

When it comes to sleep…apparently you really don’t need any. Or, at least, you need WAAAAAAAY less than what is considered “average.” At the end of week eight, you stopped giving me a glorious four to six-hour stretch in the beginning and started waking up every 2-3 hours to eat. And because we figured out how to nurse laying down, you started squeegeeing over to me in middle of night to let me know, “Hey! I’m hungry!” Well, Mommy is tired so we end up falling asleep next to each other until the next feeding where I either just stick you right back on the boob or switch sides. One night, a week later, you were wide awake after a feeding because I had to change your diaper. So, because you were awake, you figured you would start talking really loudly and smiling/almost laughing to the point you had me laughing. I kept telling you we needed to go back to sleep…but you had other ideas. Obviously. You did eventually settle down but man! You had me cracking up…at 3am.

We also had a few outings this month. You had your first trip to daddy’s work (5/3/12). Technically, it was a hotel *near* his work because they were doing training that day but, still. You met his work people and did an excellent job, even though I was worried you’d melt down in the hotel lobby. You proved me completely wrong though and you allowed other people to hold you without crying or fussing. You even busted out a few smiles for everyone – what a charmer already!!

You took your first solo outing with daddy to the grocery store and to the Wal-Mart parking lot to drop of a huge bag of documents to shred. We’ve yet to purchase a new shredder since ours broke almost a year ago and our town puts on an annual “shred-a-thon” and we decided to take advantage. Well, you and your daddy took advantage while mommy stayed home and kept herself busy vacuuming and doing laundry so she didn’t have to think about how much she missed you!

This month marked the first time you stayed home alone with daddy, too. Mommy had an appointment with the dermatologist and also stopped on her way home to pick up breakfast (Moe’s Bagels) for her and daddy.

(It is really hard to talk about myself in third person…just so you know)

We’ve also been frequenting the grocery store, mostly because you will only tolerate a few minutes there versus the hour or so it would take to do full on grocery shopping. One afternoon, daddy and I had you in your car seat inside the shopping cart and were checking out using the self scan aisle. Once we got home, we realized we had accidentally stolen eggs and bread because mommy was handing daddy items to scan and then we had an issue with the mushrooms not scanning properly, so mommy had to get someone to help her scan the mushrooms.

That’s when the eggs and bread were forgotten, still in the cart.

Our conscience got the better of us, though and we went back to the store two days later and admitted to customer service that we were thieves. The lady was nice enough to us and said she’d “let it go this time.”

(It’s not like we make it a habit of accidentally stealing anything…….)

Just so you know, honesty is always best policy, even if it is uncomfortable to have to admit you made a mistake. Case in point: daddy wanted you with him when he went to explain what happened with the bread and the eggs instead of me taking you around the store to pick up the few items we needed because he said it made him look less scary and mean to the person he had to speak with about our little fiasco.

And I have a feeling you’ll be speaking before any of us are ready! You’ve been “saying” whole sentences! I know they make complete sense to you, though your daddy and I are still trying to decipher the gah’s and ah’s. You’ve been adding sounds to your repertoire. You seem to be in this pattern of being kind of quiet for a few days and then out of nowhere you start talking up a storm with all these new sounds! You also started clucking your tongue and you will answer us if we ask you a question.

My favorite, though? Your smile…both with your mouth and your eyes. Sometimes your whole face lights up and it melts my heart!

You’ve made some strides in the physical department, too. Now, when we play on the floor to “kick kick kick!” you will roll onto your side if we help by you. You’ll hold onto our fingers and we pull slightly…and over to the tummy you go! You also grab EVERYTHING to put into your mouth. Burp cloths, your Cat in the Hat rattle, my fingers, my hair, your shirt…EVERYTHING. Your favorite, though, is chewing your fingers and hands. You try to either shove as much of your entire hand as possible into your mouth or you test your gag reflex by sticking your first finger or your thumb as far into your mouth as possible. Suffice it to say you still gag yourself…daily.

You also clasp your hands together on your chest and you bat at the (amorphous) rhinoceros and elephant in your bouncer and at the toucan hanging on your play mat. If seem to be more focused on doing that when we’re not watching but if we sneak a peek, you have the most concentrated, serious look on your face. That’s not to say you don’t enjoy time with mommy and daddy, too. You love it when we get really close, face to face, and “chat.” You get the biggest smile on your face as if you’re thinking, “It’s just YOU and ME!”

We’re also working on independence. I think that part is harder on me than it is for you. I’ve started to put you in your crib during the day with your stuffed animals wedged between the top of the crib and the wall. I tell you to talk to your friends while I either lay on the floor and do crunches next to you, put some laundry in the wash or just sit in another room and listen to you jabber away, having a great time. My whole plan with this is to get you used to crib so when we transition you to sleeping in there – in your room – you don’t wake up in an unfamiliar, scary place. After the first day I put you in your crib, I wanted to try putting you in there that same night…but I’m having to learn to be patient and slow with you and with introducing you to new things, so, for now, you and I are still sleeping side by side in the bed.

(I did, however, get you to nap in your crib for about 20 minutes…once. But, hey, that’s something, right?)

You have, though, figured out that snuggling with me during the night versus laying alone is an option…and one that you heavily prefer over all others…so now you’ll somehow worm your way over to me in the middle of the night instead of laying between two rolled up blankets. I still can’t figure out how you move the blanket…

You also seem to prefer laying on your side or almost on your stomach instead of flat on your back. Honestly, I can’t really blame you for that one, since that is exactly how I like to sleep, too. One night after I took Maddie into the guest bedroom to sleep with daddy (she snores…really loudly…) I came back to find you sound asleep almost on your tummy. It kind of freaked me out, mostly because you were swaddled and I was afraid if you rolled over you wouldn’t be able to help yourself move…so instead of letting you peacefully sleep…I picked you up and put you back on your back.

You woke up…and weren’t very happy with me moving you…but I was just trying to make sure you were safe so I’m sure you’ll forgive me…you probably already have.

And to end this month of so many new things, experiences and activities, I have to admit that there are times when I am holding you, trying to put you down for a nap or when you are in the mood just to be held, that I will I get overwhelmed at the magnitude of it all – of you…of the fact that I’m now a mommy…of how much our lives have changed…and I just cry.

The tears are not because I’m sad. I cry because wow. This is real and it’s really happening.

And I love it. Every single minute.

I love you, little man.

Mommy

breastfeeding: crunchy granola

About a month ago when I went to a play group with a local mom’s group, I met a mom who had a little girl a few days younger than Kellan.

She, by the way, was the only other person who had that young of a child. Everyone else was walking…I digress…

We got to talking and turns out she went 100% natural, so I automatically assumed in my head that she was a crunchy granola mom and must also be breastfeeding.

Wrong.

She quit at five weeks because it was too hard…it just wasn’t working out.

I was kind of shocked, honestly. I mean, breastfeeding IS really hard…but a few days later I learned she wasn’t a morning person and wanted to go for a stroller walk at noon (I think I mentioned this already?).

NOON.

That pretty much ended any kind of potential friendship…even though she did text me a few days later to tell me she’d have to try to get out early and meet me one day because noon was too hot.

Umm….no duh. Hello, baby heat stroke.

Anyhow, I digress, again.

I had a really hard time with breastfeeding at first. I mean REALLY HARD.

Kellan wouldn’t latch. I didn’t know how to get him to latch. I didn’t have a single clue as to what I was doing or should be doing. All I knew was that it was my job to keep him alive and how could I do that when he wasn’t latching???

(insert crying, blubbering, hormonal meltdown)

With the help of my mom (thank God she was here the first week), I figured out that I needed to let Kellan guide me as to how he’d like to latch.

Turned out it was the exact wrong way per the Lactation Consultant at the hospital. Kellan wanted to lay flat of his back, with his head turned to my boob – and only is head.

For weeks I would have to have one hand under his head/cheek and the other holding my boob for him. Once he latched, I didn’t want to move for fear of breaking it and then having to start all over again.

Starting all over again was a long, arduous process. It would sometimes take 15 minutes or so before he figured out how to re-latch. So, breaking the latch wasn’t an option. Instead, once successful contact was made, I would sit there with him on the My Brest Friend and be uncomfortable or starving or both. It was both a lot of the time.

On too of that, my poor nipples hurt like a mother. They, obviously, were not accustomed to being utilized so frequently, and every time he *did* latch it would hurt SO BAD for a few seconds. I cringed every time, waiting on the pain…pain I knew was coming and there was nothing I could do about it but bear it.

The shower stung my nipples, too. It’s like my boobs were taking the one respite I had left and denying me relaxation. Instead of a nice, hot, ahhhhhhhh shower, my internal dialogue was more like, “Ow…ow…ow…don’t face front…ow…or sideways…owwww!”

Fortunately, that all went away after a few weeks…showers and I (me?) are BFF 4 EVAH.

Anyhow, point is, breastfeeding didn’t come naturally. In fact, it probably wouldn’t have happened at all had my mom not been there to – literally and figuratively – help me and my boob figure it all out. Before Kellan was born, I was bound and determined to breastfeed. That was 500 extra calories a day I’d burn and I’d be damned if I was missed out on that gravy train.

So, I stuck with it…through the frustration and pain and hours and hours of having a child attached to me. Tim said the other day we may as well hook up a direct line, since all Kellan wants to do right now is nurse. He’s awake? Nee! It’s time for a nap? Nee! Bedtime? Nee! Middle of the night? Nee!

Nee is the word for booby/I want to eat right now, in case you hadn’t figured the part out.

Somewhere along the breastfeeding path I decided I wanted to do so, exclusively, for six months.

Apparently, I’m in the minority when it comes to that idea. Most people throw in the bottle waaay before then…and I’m not against a bottle…we just haven’t had the need for one, yet. Others go straight from womb to formula and that’s cool if that’s your choice. Babies survive just fine on formula. That just wasn’t my choice. That wasn’t my plan.

When I make a plan, I stick to it come hell or high water, hello graduating with a four-year degree in three years.

So, I’m breastfeeding until this child hits six months…unless he gets teeth and starts to bite me. Then I’ll pump and bottle feed him. I’d like to preserve the nipplage. I haven’t asked him but I’m pretty sure Tim would prefer that, too.

After six months, we’ll start supplementing with people food (Yay! Can’t wait!). I have a feeling I’ll be in the minority with that, too, because I’m almost 100% positive I will not be starting with rice cereal or any other kind of cereal for that matter.

But more on that another day…I just got back from the pediatrician to learn that Kellan caught his first cold. He’s had gross boogers, a cough and green poo for a few days so I figured I’d rather be safe than sorry….

I feel like a bad mother…I knew it would happen eventually but, still. He has a cold! SAD FACE.

Anyhow, remind me to chat you up about the rice cereal thing and co-sleeping because I’ll probably forget otherwise and oh yes, Kellan has been sleeping next to me since birth.

I guess I’m crunchy granola like that.

I didn’t plan it that way…it just sort of happened. My mom and Tim’s mom were crunchy granola in their own way when it came to raising their children. Maybe that’s where it came from?

the seventh circle of hell

I really thought Kellan deciding to wake up every 2-3 hours was as bad as it could get.
I mean, that’s just enough time for me to fall asleep, get into a deep sleep….and then be jolted awake again. How could it possibly get worse?

It couldn’t.

Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong WRONG.

It can always get worse.

You should never, ever test baby sleep fate. Never.

I cannot stress that enough. NEVER.

Don’t say your child sleeps like a little angel because it’ll come back to bite you in the ass.

Mark. My. Words.

For the laaasst…week…probably more…Kellan has decided that two hours – MAX – is what he’s gonna do. Period. No amount of coaxing or coercing will sway his decision (Hello, Type A Dragon baby) (This is the Chinese year of the dragon, FYI)

He is also coming to the conclusion that the binky is not the booby and DO NOT put that terrible replica of what I really want into my mouth so help me god or I’ll scream louder.

About the sleep, though…I’m too tired to even deal with the binky issue other than to shove a boob in his mouth and try to get five minutes of sleep.

Do you have any idea what it feels like to have to wake up almost every single hour of the night?

For A WEEK?!

Lemme drag out my back hoe, run you over with it a few times and then toss in a good, robust beating with a Louisville Slugger.

I’m beyond zombie status.

Between the constant wakings, super short naps during the day, Kellan wanting to be held or constantly entertained (hello? I’m bored, mom!) and everything in between, I walked into the bathroom this morning as Tim was getting ready (because Kellan decided 5:30 was a superb time to wake up for the day), my hair looking like a pack of blue jays had made their forever home in it, and was straight faced, barely able to focus my eyes on anything all, “I NEED SOME SLEEP.”

And then promptly walked right back out.

I think this is what happens during the 12 week growth spurt combined with the 12th Wonder Week (cognitive/physical skill development stuff).

Basically, the seventh circle of hell with a baby permanently attached to my boob.

friday photo – ouch (photo tmi)

The before:

The after:

They really shouldn’t have left it all out like that….just sayin.

And yes, that giant shot went right into all areas of the perineum and hurt like a SOB. The OB was all, “it’s going to hurt like a bear for a minute…try not to tense up.”

Ummm….riiiiight. Sure. No problem………

I really don’t have anything more to say other than now I remember why a day after Kellan was born I said having another child was insane.

The local has worn off and Tylenol is doing nothing for the pain.

I’ve already got an SOS call into the OB.

Also of note: apparently if you’re super swollen post birth and need to be stitched up, it’s like sewing pudding. The OB’s words, not mine.

the second opinion vaj verdict

I rarely post anything in the afternoon…no real reason other than I’m more of a morning person, I guess?

Anyhow, for those of you following the drama (DRAM-a) of my vaj, more accurately, my perineum, I had an appointment with another OB today to get a second opinion and some help, since A&D ointment is NOT the answer.

(if you have no idea what I’m talking about, check the state of the vaj post)

(I’d link to it but I’m tired, there’s a baby on my boob and I just came back from a full on rectal exam so….yah)

Anyhow, long story short, this new OB actually spoke to me, asked questions and apologized for my experience that she wasn’t even responsible for.

Initially she was all, “Are you sure it’s not hemorrhoids?”

Um…I’m not exactly sure about anything at this point, other than something ain’t right down there.

Begin the nakedness from waist down and lots of examining places that are no fun for anybody.

To cut right to the point because I have limited time, here, the verdict is it is NOT hemorrhoids.

The part on my perineum next to my literal ass hole will. not. close. because of the obvious (read: pooing) and if we just left it alone, infection could happen and it’ll take FOR-EVAH to heal.

When she started checking, she went front to back and when she got to the back she was all, “Ohh. So THIS is what you’re talking about.”
Suffice it to say that there will be in-office re-suturing happening on Friday.

If that doesn’t work?

A visit to the hospital operating room for a full on RE-SUTURING of the entire area. Basically like a full blown episiotomy…without having a baby.

Also? The OB will be consulting with her counterparts to see if the better option IS the full blown cut and re-stitch…because if option A doesn’t work, then I have to go through both option A (in-office mini repair) AND option B: the big, painful enchilada. If I don’t get a phone call before Friday, option A it is.

I SO do not want to go through option A. At least the last time that *area* was being repaired I was high on hormones.

I don’t even want to think about option B.

Hold me.

Related: I canceled my follow up appointment at the other OB.

fri…yay!

I’m not even sure what to call Fridays anymore.

WHEW comes to mind. Two whole days with two parents in the house!!

This week has been crazy. Ca-ray-zy.

Kellan and I had play date on Tuesday with a mom I met at the play group last week. Her daughter is nine months old, though, and Kellan slept the whole time, so…..that was that. We just chatted it up for about an hour. Play date número dos is this coming Monday…at our house (instead of hers). I have some baby proofing to do. Her nine month old is walking. Walking!

(I don’t remember Monday. I have four day memory capabilities only. Apparently.)

Wednesday Kellan and Tim had their first stay-at-home-alone-without-mommy experience while I went to the dermatologist. I was (not) blessed with lots of moles, so I go twice a year to make sure nothing looks funky. This time, only two samples were taken. Yay.

When I got home, a huge truck thing was mostly blocking our driveway. A house is being built right across the street from us and the worker people don’t seem to care that others actually live here.

Long story short, Tim went out and asked them to move their truck and they are all mostly no habla inglés. Nothing against anyone, it’s just the truth.

Anyhow, they got super mad at him and claimed Tim called them a “Mexican bean.”

Tim was all, “Uhhhh….huh? A what? What does that even mean?”

I assure you, if Tim wanted to say something inappropriate and derogatory, it wouldn’t have been that. But he didn’t say anything like that. And funny enough, the contractor with the irate dudes get product from Tim’s plant.

I think we all know who received a phone call that day.

Also, anyone? Mexican bean? Does that mean something?

Thursday Kellan and I went to visit daddy at work…or a hotel near work since he had a training thing that day with a bunch of other work people. I was nervous, hoping Kellan wouldn’t have a meltdown. We got there about ten minutes early and Tim came out to tell me they weren’t finished, yet. I looked at him like, “You said come ten minutes. Early. He’s going to meltdown in a hotel lobby and I’m snot prepared for that yet and what am I supposed to do now?!”

In the end, there were no meltdowns. Kellan was an adorable, happy baby for everyone.

Yay! Reputation still intact!

Finally, in other TMI news, I think I have to take a poo today.

We all know how very, very sad this makes me.

The good news is that I have an appointment on Monday with another OB. Funny enough, I had a dream last night that I was arguing with the office manager at other place, trying to get a refund because they messed up my hoo-ha.

Then again, I also had a dream that I was abducted by aliens (for serious). Freaked me right the hell out. I woke up wanting to run to get Tim from the guest bedroom all, “Check mr for markings! Check me for markings!…..I’m still speaking English, right?! Hold me….”

Happy Fri-yay!

the state of the vaj

It’s been….entirely too long since I’ve updated anyone on my post-rocketing-a-baby-from-my-bits progress.

And he absolutely rocketed. That isn’t an exaggeration.

So, the positive…I only have about ten pounds to go before I’m back to pre-baby weight. I’ve read that some women hold onto those ten pounds until they stop breastfeeding.

I’m hoping that isn’t my body.

Oh, right. I probably forgot to mention that I gained like, forty pounds.

So much for the desired “I’m only gaining 25-35 pounds.”

Granted, ten pounds or not, my belly is still all sorts of sadface. It’s ah-mazing what almost nine months can do to your abdominal wall (read: zip. zilch. nada). Lately, I’ve been putting Kellan in his crib to talk to his stuffed animal friends while I lay on the floor in his nursery and attempt to fire off a few rounds of reverse crunches and sit-ups.

Some days he cooperates and some days my abs continue on the road to remain flabby.

I’m pretty positive my butt and my thighs are still ginormous. I made small progress the other day when Tim asked if I had lost weight because he thought both looked smaller.

Bonus points to you, dear, whether you were serious or were just trying to make me feel better.

To combat those? Walks with Kellan in the stroller.

I’ve yet to be cleared to run because…………

My ass is still broken.

More accurately, my perineum.

This is the part where it gets into TMI territory. Fair warning.

For whatever reason, the area right before my literal hole where the poop comes out isn’t healing. According to the OB….begin tangent….My OB who I currently want to kick in the teeth because she isn’t helping me. At. All.

After examining my sutures last Friday from the 3rd degree tear and telling me it was still open/not healing I looked at her all, “Well, I have no idea what to do about that.”

And then she looks at me, dead pan serious face all, “Me either.”

Uhhhhhhhhhh……………..what?

To top it all off, her nurse person who weighed me added an extra pound because I was *almost* at a higher number.

You’re supposed to subtract a number. Not add one.

For clothes.

I was not happy.

This was the second time I’d gotten a non-answer about how to deal with my issue down below. The only other words of wisdom she gave me at my six week check up were “No sex” and “No running.”

Awesome.

How about no pooping because that still hurts like a mother. I cry when I even have the slightest urge to go because I know how badly it will hurt when I actually do the deed. It’s like part of the sutures re-rip every single time, regardless of the “softness” of the poo.

(related: Colace doesn’t work for, well, you know. That is unless you’re aiming for harder poo than normal)

And then? It hurts “down there” ALL DAMN DAY.

Sitting after pooping is absolute torture. There is a semi-permanent donut on the chair at the kitchen table where I sit. I have to nurse Kellan lying down because I can’t handle sitting in any position that involves my butt cheeks touching anything.

It’s like my ass aged fifty years in one childbirth.

It’s like my perineum “trauma” – because that’s exactly what it is – has taken away my two most favorite activities: running…and pooping.

(and you thought I was going to say sex)

(you’re all liars if you say you don’t enjoy a good poop)

….end tangent. Kind of.

Point is: I’m currently looking for another OB to get a second opinion and to also switch to because I’m not driving ALL THE WAY INTO DENVER FOR YOU TO TELL ME YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO FIX IT and to come back in another month.

Because time heals all wounds, right?

Fail, OB. Massive, massive fail.

Anyway, I don’t even remember where I was going before that tangent….right. According to my OB, she has no idea why that part isn’t healing and I should just rub a whole bunch of A&D ointment on it because, obviously, diaper rash team will do the trick.

Choke me with a Cheerio. Gag me with a Fruit Loop.

I had no idea the recovery phase would take so long.

It’s extremely upsetting because I figured I’d be off and running by now. That was my fail safe weight loss ka-blam!

My perineum has taken away, or at least delayed, the ka-blam! potential.

And that is no bueno.

I’m afraid of a subsequent childbirth and third degree tearing incident. I’d rather not lose the capability to “hold it” and have poo literally falling out of my hiney.

Hiney is way more appropriate than my other option with a two month old in the house.

Just sayin.