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.”
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.
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.”
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.