Oh, Bloody Hell

***Men, you might want to skip this one. Hah, like any guys read this blog. Or really, anyone. ***


The past couple of weeks, I've had a slight pain. Kind of like cramps, but there was no follow-up, so to speak. Alrighty, go about my business and don't worry about it mon!

Saturday was a small going-away luncheon for my sister, who moved to Richmond, Virginia this past Sunday. Very intimate, just family, and a great success. I was EXHAUSTED afterwards, though. We figured that's because I hate anyone else helping me when I have a project and insisted on doing the foods myself. My mom did a gorgeous tablescape and picked up breads, crackers, and ice, but honestly that is because I finally realized an hour before that I had nothing for my guests to put their egg and chicken salads on. She bought a great assortment of thinly sliced breads and fancy pants crackers, showing that Mom is definitely the one to turn to.

Anyway, I'm exhausted, and the next day my husband takes the baby to her 2nd set of grandparents and himself to the mall, leaving me to sleep. I feel HORRIBLE. My back hurts, my abdomen hurts by my incision, and my throat is scratchy like I'm 16 and front row at a Justin Bieber appearance. Despite sleeping most of the day, I don't feel rested. By the end of the night, I'm in so much pain I can barely walk, and the only thing that keeps me from completely freaking out is 1/2 a leftover Percocet from the c-section. That half a dose is enough to keep the pain at bay and let me get some sleep.

The next day, I make an appointment with my OB/GYN because the PAIN is so INTENSE and I really think there's SOMETHING WRONG. Now, keep in mind that I have had my share of medical conditions in this particular region, so it's not like I have histrionics with no background.

But you know where I'm going with this, right?

Yep, shortly after making an appointment for my uterus and declaring I am NEVER getting pregnant again if continual gynecological issues are what I get to look forward to, I gt my period for the first time in over a year.

And before I got pregnant, my period had been light to the point of almost non-existence.

But oh boy, have we made up for that.

I had to make a late night run for some heavy duty backup, I am now well supplied to, in the words of a witty man, "keep a beheading from being fatal."

Speaking of, have you seen these Always Overnight pads? Holy crap, these babies are the length of my arm from fingertips to elbow, and roughly four inches thick. I have pregnancy granny panties that are hardly big enough to hold this sucker in, but boy does it work. I feel ridiculous, but our bed has white sheets and I prefer not to have my scarlet letter all over it.

I am also well stocked on the Midol, water, and coffee. For a mid-morning light snack I ate the last two peanut butter-chocolate cupcakes with caramel frosting, which now sit in my stomach refusing to digest. IT WAS WORTH IT, I DON'T CARE. I am retaining enough fluid that I've gone up almost two sizes (it is NOT the cupcakes, shut up). And now I'm wondering, "Wait, so, were all those daily crying jags just massive, built up PMS, and does this mean I DON'T have post-partum depression? Because that would work with my schedule better."

How funny that the pain made me not want to be pregnant, but one of the great side effects of pregnancy is not having to deal with this. I seriously forgot what an annoyance this is, but on the bright side, I'm not knocked up. I love my daughter but one child is enough for right now. And if that means doubling up on barriers and hiding our until I can react to situations like a normal human being, than that's fine.

Yet another pointless thing to obsess over.

If you watch tv, especially kids or 'women's channels' (We, Lifetime, etc.) I know you've seen this commercial. A little boy runs up to his mom at the park, tugs on her sleeve and whispers, "I've gotta go." Another mother, who apparenty have SpyTech or one of those Sonic Ears devices because she's seriously about 30 feet away, points at the child and tells her, "The Potty Dance!" ALL the parents on the playground start doing this move that looks like a take off on the hokey-pokey, and the original mom and kid join in. Everyone has a lot of fun, and we are encouraged to learn this dance too.

Here's my petty gripe.

WHEN DOES THE KID GO TO THE BATHROOM? I mean, he's run to his mom, he tells her he has to go, he's done everything he's been taught instead of wetting his pants, and instead of getting him to the restroom, his mom says, "C'mon Johnny! we're dancing instead!"

If you've dealt with a toddler, you know that time is a delicate factor in the difference between dry kid back on the jungle gym and wet kid riding home crying because he's soaked in urine.

And now, all he's learned is that if he tells his mom he has to pee, she's going to make him join the youngest flash mob ever.