Oh, I Forgot One
7) I pee involuntarily when I cough, sneeze, or — most horrifyingly — when I laugh.
Pee. In. My. Own. Pants.
And, yes, I Kegel.
I heard this doesn’t go away. My mom told me to buy Depends if I ever get bronchitis.
But he is just so darn cute that I almost don’t mind! (Almost.)
There, I Said It
Niobe put up another Niobe’s True Confessions. I found the first edition horribly unsettling (is everyone really cheating on their spouse and/or having suicidal thoughts?) and I can’t bear to read the second. Instead, I will post my own version of “true confessions.”
1) I do not enjoy breastfeeding. On 22 June, I will have made it a whole year. Baby S has refused to nurse for over a month, so I pump between 2-3 times a day. I do it exclusively because the health benefits for him, which are particularly important given all the auto-immune issues in our families. I don’t even remember loving it when he was actually nursing. There were days when it was okay, but mostly I felt like it was a chore. Still, it is a minor chore and may bring him a lifetime of health benefits, so I pump. And pump. And pump. I will continue to pump until I go back to school in the fall.
2) Giving birth was not a transformative experience. Having a baby was/is a transformative experience, but pushing him out of my bajingo did nothing for me except, well, to get him out. I would have been fine with a C-section if it had been necessary.
3) I weighed 30 lbs. less when I was 9 months pregnant. Fuck.
4) I have the worst acne I have ever had while breastfeeding — huge, cystic zits that really hurt. I have gotten facials, I have applied zit creme, I have used every product imaginable; nothing seems to work.
5) The only thing that keeps me from wanting to try again for another baby right away is my trip to Europe scheduled for next spring. It’s the hormones talking, I swear. My logical mind is no match for my hormonal mind. A 2+ week European trip, however, is no match for my hormonal mind.
6) Having my own biological baby has made me more interested in adoption. Go figure.
Status Updates I Will Never Dare Post on Facebook
“MC is wondering why her right boob makes so much more milk than her left boob.”
“MC is currently covered in baby shit.”
“MC is currently covered in baby pee.”
“MC is currently covered in baby spit-up.”
“MC is wondering why she is just now starting to pee when she sneezes?”
“MC thinks it might be easier somedays to just strap her kid directly to her boob.”
“MC wants to know how people who have multiples make it work.”
“MC wants to know how people who have more than one child make it work.”
“MC wonders if her sex drive will ever return.”
“MC would just like to get some fucking sleep already.”
“MC just spent x hours on-line researching organic baby mattresses.”
“MC just spent x hours on-line searching for cute baby clothes.”
“MC has gone x days without taking a shower.”
“MC is dreading the day when her menstrual cycle starts up again. She has not had ‘Aunt Flo’ in a year, and frankly, she does not miss the bitch.”
“MC doesn’t understand how a pharmacy can not order her size of diaphram?”
Tripartate Division
Most of my days can be divided into three groupings:
1) Sleeping
2) Throwing Up
3) Trying Not to Throw Up
The last part can further be subdivided into three groupings:
a) Wondering if just throwing up will make me feel better
b) Complaining about all the throwing up
c) Attempting to get actual work done
Do you want to read about this? I don’t think anyone does.
It snowed here and they have not plowed our street yet. Come 3:30 (when I have an ultasound scheduled) they had better have plowed my fucking street or I am going to kill somebody if I can’t get to that appointment.
I am also scheduled to go out of town tomorrow and fly halfway across the country to give a talk on Wednesday that I haven’t written yet. The fun never ends.
Instead of working on the presentation, I think I am going to lay down and rest from the puke-fest this morning. This kid had better still be alive this afternoon.
Updates
In order of importance:
1) Wee-beastie is still alive and growing right on schedule — 8w6d today (2 days head of LMP calculations). The heart-rate is high — 182 bpm — but the physician’s assistant said that this is fine (she even used the word “perfect” again).
2) The Colace/fiber/increased fluid intake regimen worked. Finally.
3) My mother has decided not to leave my father. For now, at least. She still does not know I am pregnant, and I intend to keep it that way as long as possible.
Constipation Consternation
WARNING: This is a TMI post. You will not be able to un-read it, so if TMI-y things tend to bother you, do not keep reading.
I knew about the sore breasts, the fatigue, and the nausea. I did not know about the constipation. It is in all my books as a “symptom” but I thought with my history of ulcerative colitis that I would cancel out the constipation and end up somewhere around normal. I was wrong.
It turns out that the progesterone capsules I shove up my bajingo twice a day can cause constipation. Even more dramatically, Zofran — the drug that allows me to only dry-heave my way through the work day instead of barfing myself silly at home — also causes constipation. The two of them teamed up and it is not pretty.
The only other time I have had this happen was post-miscarriages when I was pleasantly doped up on pain medicine every four hours. I took Colace (a stool-softener) then, too, and while I was uncomfortable, I was not physically miserable. This time, I fear I started the Colace too late.
I blew out my boh-poh.* I can barely walk and can only lay down in certain positions. I am bleeding and I am seriously considering putting an ice-pack on my ass. Why was I not warned that this could happen? With colitis, I thought not going to the bathroom for a day (or two?) was good news; this was not good news. This is horrible. Awful. Painful.
I am now taking fiber, Colace, and drinking lots and lots of fluids. Prune juice will make me ralph, but milk-of-magnesia is looking better and better. Hopefully, something will work and my boh-poh can heal.
My third ultrasound is tomorrow morning. Did you know that when you are very nervous you tend to clench your boh-poh? Why, neither did I until today. I have been practicing “conscious muscle relaxation” that I learned years ago in yoga. I am sure this is exactly the situation my teacher intended it for.
*My four-year-old friend Maya taught me this word. Some of you may know the same anatomy by the terms “butt-hole” or “anus” but I prefer “boh-poh” — it has a nice ring, eh?
