Limbo Party!

'Amember Me?

Hi there.

Long time no post, I know.

Just had trouble figuring out what to say. And after reading my last few posts (except for the declaring Jim from the Office and Christian Bale my virtual sex slaves (rarhhhhhh!), I think it's probably a good thing I took some time off. Damn if I didn't sound annoyingly self absorbed and just plain insensitive to what those of you who were/are still in the trenches were/are going through. To what I might be going through again sometime in the very near future. Seriously, I would have unsubscribed from this blog so fast if I were you... So for those of you who're still out there and still even mildly interested in moi... thanks.

So, what can I tell you?

I've been working again full time for the first time since last Oct. It sucks. Not sure I'm going to keep at it as the money I make is about what I'm paying for a nanny.

I need to go shopping. For realsies. I'm going to a party for the first time in I don't know how long and my choices for what to wear are just depressing. I love clothes, hate to shop. This is a problem. My mother has tremendous style, loves to spend money even if it isn't her own. Perhaps I shall give her a project. She's already helped me decorate Casa Limbo. Why not have her dress me, too? What? it's not like I'm an adult or anything. I'm only 32.

I watch too much television. I'd gladly sell Mr L downriver if it meant no harm would come to my precious DVR. And I actually LIKE Mr L. The man can cook. And he's a fucking riot, even if occasionally unintentionally so. But he can't bring me 30 Rock whenever I feel like watching. Oh yeah and for anyone who cares, so many of my IRL friends tell me that Liz Lemon reminds them of me. At first I was all flattered, thinking that they meant I had that quirky yet slyly funny thing down. But then I watched a few more episodes and realized they were probably referring to the fact that Liz Lemon does weird things like eat a P*p Tart she found on the floor of her apt. Yep, I'd totally do that. Except I like to think that I'd wear cooler, more feminine clothes while doing so. Well, if my mom had time to shopping for me, anyway.

LL is about 13 mos old now. He's unbelievably awesome in every way. I've been thinking about trying again since he was about 3 weeks ago. Not because I'm ready for another baby. Quite frankly, I can barely handle the one I have and he's the world's easiest child. But my eggs appear to be crap and he took 3 years. That's a blink of an eye in Infertile Bloglandia, but still. As usual, my body is making things even more complicated as my cycles are averaging at about 90ish days each. I stopped breastfeeding at 3mos pp, so that's not a factor anymore. After I complained of this and near baldness, Dr TV had me tested for thyroid issues. (I cannot believe I had to go back to her for my 1 yr pp checkup. I couldn't even look her in the eye I hate her so much. But I was pleased to see that she'd gained a considerable amount of weight. Cuntbag.) The tests were negative. We both concluded that I'm just not ovulating, which isn't an issue, medically speaking. Sure as fuck is, ttc-speaking, tho.  She also tested my fsh, which wasn't horrible-- 8.44. But I'm not even sure that # means anything since it was on a random day in my cycle. So... my options are to return to RE#3 for clomid or IVF just sit here hoping my cycles return to normal on their own so that Mr Limbo and I can do a few au natural cycles only to end up resorting to clomid/IVF anyway.  I honestly have no clue what to do. Part of me thinks that I'm so incredibly lucky to have LL that I should just leave well enough alone. That same part of me thinks maybe I just miss the drama of cycling (no I'm serious. I really think it's possible to get addicted to that emotional rush of treatment, even when those emotions feel like they're being dragged over a cheese grater).  The other part of me is screaming, wtf are you thinking, that you'll just be able to have another child whenever you feel like it? You clearly had serious issues conceiving, dipshit. Run back into the waiting arms of RE #3 and throw yourself at his mercy! Ok, maybe I took that fantasy a bit too far. But you feel me?

Well, the Chardonnay bottle is right empty and Mr L is calling me to come inspect the work he and his friends have done in our living room. They're installing a hideous flatscreen on an arm. I hate visible television sets, esp. in living rooms. But we don't have the space for a living room and a family room (ahhh, the joys of apartment living) so the only solution was to put the tv in our bookshelves, behind some cabinet doors. I'm scared to see what's become of my living room. But I'm going in. Wish me luck. xoxo

PS to my fellow bloggers who've been too lazy or tounge tied (or is it keyboard tied?) to post . Do it. You know you want it and it feels sooo good. At the very least post your latest news in my comments section. I want to know that you're still kicking.

Enough about me. Let's talk about you:

Home
Who is your movie star boyfriend* (or girlfriend, if you're so inclined)?

Moi? J'adore Christian Bale . He is perfect. He is brilliant. He is mine.

*Not to be confused with one's TV boyfriend (in my case... John Krasinski.) These are two totally separate but equally satisfying relationships.

Real

I was thinking about Infertile Bloglandia (IB) this morning, as I am wont to do in those first few hours of every day before the chaos begins.... and I had one of those thoughts that gives you that weird Twilight Zone feeling deep in the pit of your stomach:

What if IB exists only in my head?

Seriously.

Let's review. 1) I come from a long line of crazies. 2) I discovered my beloved IB while researching miscarriages and fucked up uteruses (uteri?). At which time I was more than a little devastated and DESPERATE for someone, anyone to talk to about treatment and how it feels to be pregnant one day and so not pregnant the next. When I happened upon the lovely and talented Brooklyngirl, I'd never even read a blog. But here was this woman who was going through a somewhat similar struggle! And she could really write, dammit. I quickly read every single one of her posts and when there more no more archives to devour, I would sit by my computer willing her to make more. I remember her first positive beta saga as if it were my own.  I soon discovered that I wasn't the only one who thought BG rocked. In fact, BG had many like minded friends (as evidenced by her brilliantly edited blogroll) and they, too, knew their way around a sentence. 3)  After a few months of obsessively following the exploits of my fellow infertiles, I started my own blog and quickly became intoxicated  with the giving and receiving (mostly the receiving) of comments. You people, kind hearted souls that you are, humored my every narcissistic, self obsessed tendency.  You laughed at my bad jokes, scraped me off the bathroom floor after every negative, misdiagnosis and jaw dropping display of negligence... and there were SO many, (RE #2: "You're right, MM. The lab WAS supposed to do ICSI. Maybe that's why only one of your eggs fertilized. Hmmmmm.... Weird.") and backed me up when I fumed about the asshattery infertiles have to contend with on a daily basis. The more you and I interacted, the stronger and smarter I became. One might even say that you were the... hold on while I throw up... wind beneath my wings.

I don't know. Sometimes this all seems too good to be true. I mean, come on. In my darkest hour I discover that I have insanely funny, eloquent friends in the computer?? I know Mr Limbo thought I had gone all Beautiful Mind on him when I started talking about how I'd been emailing with one of my blog friends.

Well if adoring people whom I've never met is wrong, I don't wanna be right... or sane.

***
In other news, LL is doing SO well with the new formula and prevacid. (Knock on wood!!!).  But now that the silent reflux is finally getting better, we're on to a new problem... LL's tea*r ducts still appear to be as blocked as Bill Clinton's arteries were a few years ago. So we're off to the eye doctor next week. I'm really worried that LL is going to have to have surgery to open those suckers up.  For an otherwise very healthy child, the poor boy has seen so many specialists!

*The physical therapist for the shoulder injury he incurred on his way out of his 40 week sublet.
*The laser doctor for the tiny hemangioma on his lip. We go every three weeks or so. (No, you didn't miss that post. I haven't blogged about the hemangioma... but I probably will. Not that there's much to say...)
*The ENT for the silent reflux.
*And now the eye doctor.

You'd think that the 3 years I spent trying to bring LL into this world would have prepared me for dealing with all of these medical types. Not so much...

 

I signed up for a new mother's seminar tomorrow. I'm still debating whether or not I'll actually motivate to go. Won't all the babies be much younger than LL (who is about 5.5 mos now)? Won't all the other mothers be totally clueless on how difficult it can be to conceive and carry a child to term? Won't they think less of me if I show up in my pink flannel pjs? Stay tuned.

I hate it when I'm right

It's official: Little Limbo has silent reflux.

And the croup.

And an ear infection.

After yet another nightmarish feed on Thursday morning, I had a mini nervous breakdown, then demanded an appointment notnowrightnow with LL's ped. The ped was on vacation and the only other doctor available was Dr Dragonlady as she is not so affectionately called on a certain messageboard. She of the spike heels and tinted blingly sunglasses and Chanel suits, which she wears to a job that puts her at high risk for getting barfed on on any given day. As her nickname might suggest, she's known for being something of a bitch.  So I did what any grown woman would do when she's worried she'll be intimidated by a doctor-- I brought my mommy, a master in the art of bitchcraft, with me. 

To my utter shock, I didn't need my mommy. Dr Dragonlady was not only perfectly civil, she actually took me seriously and agreed that LL has every symptom of silent reflux. She referred me to a fabulous ENT who officially diagnosed the little guy this morning after sticking a tube up his nose (THAT was fun). She put him on Preva*cid then confirmed that the cold he'd developed over the weekend had morphed into an ear infection/croup. I left the ENTs office feeling both relieved (finally a diagnosis!) and so guilty I could barely walk (how the fuck could I have let LL suffer this long? Why didn't I fight harder for him? How could I not know that his ear was infected??)

Now I'm just waiting for the pharmacy to deliver LL's medications and praying that they work quickly to make him feel better. It's about damn time.

***

Thanks for the warm welcome back. I really have missed you broads.

I think my feelings on my prolonged absence can best be expressed in song:

    Maybe I didn't update
    Quite as often as I should have
    Maybe I didn't comment
    Quite as often as I could have
    Little things I should have bitched about
    I just never took the time
    You were always on my mind
    You were always on my mind

    Maybe I didn't tell you
    About my butt in the front
    And I guess I never let on
    that Dr TV is a royal c*nt

    If I made you feel like I'm one of those tools who procreates then forgets her peeps
    Girls I'm so sorry I was blind
    You were always on my mind
    You were always on my mind

    Tell me, tell me that your blog love hasn't died
    Give me, give me one more chance to keep you satisfied, satisfied

    Little things I should have relayed--like how grateful and scared I am to be someone's mother
    I just never took the time
    You were always on my mind
    You were always on my mind
    You were always on my mind

Now that I've groveled a bit, let me throw a pathetic excuse your way. I was fairly disorganized and scattered PRE-Little Limbo. Now any attempt at scheduling (or brushing my teeth more than once a day or finding the damn cordless phone I always seem to misplace just at the moment when I'm expecting a very important call from the pediatrician or my boss) is just helpless. I'm finally coming out of the haze that was the first few months of Little Limbo's life and things are a bit better. But bear with me, because honestly, I suck at this whole doing more than one thing at a time thing. Seriously-- today I congratulated myself on changing out of my pjs before 5pm and I only cleaned up because I had workmen coming over to fix a window in my living room.

Disclaimer; I wrote this ridiculously long update over 2 weeks ago and still can’t seem to focus long enough to edit the damn thing. I’m not a master of transitions (as you may have gathered) and all the frenetic topic skipping you’re about to witness just makes me sound psychotic. The crazy coupled with my usual complainy, negative tone is more than even I can stand and I’m totally self-obsessed.

You’ve been warned.

Ok so you know how on television children can age 10 years in the span of two episodes? That's what it feels like every time I read a blog friend's account of her offsprings latest accomplishments. One post she's having contractions. The next, her child is mastering Mandarin Chinese. Behold, a short list of LL’s recent achievements:

*Proved that like his mother, he's a gainer; LL was 8.9 oz at delivery. Now he's hovering at around 15.5 lbs, which is a damn near miracle since unlike his mother, he doesn't really like to eat. I'm really going to start to wonder about him if it turns out that he doesn't like cheese.  (I joke here but this aversion to eating thing has been a constant source of anxiety for me... much more on this later.)
*Thumb sucking (the little prodigy started that while we were still in the hospital)
*Sleeping through the night. Can I get an AMEN?
*Smiling/laughing (All I have to do to get him to dissolve into hysterics is sing "I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose garden." In addition to this retrocountry classic, the ever-ecclectic LL also loves "When you're happy and you know it clap your hands!" and "Boom boom boom let's go back to my room..."  and  the sound of me saying  "Mamamamamama." One advantage to working at home is that I have far more time to campaign for LL’s affections than poor Mr Limbo does.
*Head lifting
*Screeching/babbling/moaning to express pleasure, usually when placed under the front hall chandelier. Funny, I have the same reaction when I pass this store.
*Hair pulling (mine):  This is a rawther unfortunate development as LL’s new trick is painful and a bit ick as my hair is falling out at a very rapid pace right now. I should be bald by March. Every time LL sticks his fist into what’s left of my mane, his hand ends up covered in my expensively highlighted strands. His other favorite new pastime is to stick said hair-covered fist into his mouth before I can clean it off. Finger lickin good.

Daily life with LL is amazing and challenging. He's gorgeous and sweet and easy to please and already has such a fabulous sense of humor (read: he thinks I’m a scream.) The hard part has been forcing myself outside of myself. After three years of freelancing from my apartment, where I can go an entire workday without talking to anyone, it has been bizarre to even have another person here, let alone someone who needs my constant attention. I miss my inner dialogue.  I'm sure that connecting with other mothers would do me some good, but honestly I really have no desire to do that. I know how insecure and competitive I can get and I just don't want to put myself in the position of having to worry about whether or not LL is  keeping up with Baby Jones. I only have two friends with children and those kids are considerably older than LL. Perhaps once LL's neck control becomes less precarious I'll sign us up for a music class. Oh but then I’d have to talk to other people. Right. Perhaps there is a music class by correspondence?

Recovery from the crazy delivery and 4th degree tear was slightly less painful yet much more prolonged than I assumed it would be. I kept thinking I was fine, then something else disturbing and exhausting would happen to my body. A few more weeks would pass and I'd think, “Wow, I so wasn't fine. NOW I'm fine!” Wash, rinse, repeat. Only now do I truly feel back to normal. Not that I'm normal.

Breast feeding never quite worked. Little Limbo spent several days in the NICU and I spent several days tethered to IVs and a catheter in my room, so we couldn't even attempt it until he was over a week old. By then he'd gotten so used to a bottle that it would have taken an act of God for him to start eating from the mm buffet...even with the help of two separate lactation consultants (one very granola and NPR tote bag carrying, one very sarcastic and fun. Guess which one I liked better?). Very Cool Lactation Consultant (VCLC) insisted that with a lot of work, we could make boob feeding work. But I just didn't have it in me to finger feed LL for a week as he screamed for food. My body was in crisis mode and I was constantly crying (more from having to live with the Dictator Baby Nurse Mr Limbo refused to fire than from PPD, I think). I'd used all of my energy to bring LL into this world... there was just very little left. I pumped and fed LL mostly breastmilk for 3 loooong mos until my supply took a nosedive around Christmas. I felt so, so guilty to have to give LL Similyak exclusively but sending back that pump I'd rented was the best present I could have asked for. Feeding LL every three hours for an hour at a time, then pumping for 30-45 minutes was a real bitch.

Unfortunately, the feeding situation is only slightly less time consuming and heartbreaking now. LL will eat an ounce or two then arch his back and generally go bonkers if I put the bottle anywhere near his mouth. Multiple calls to the ped yielded nothing but “Look at him, mm. He’s huge. It’s probably gas. He’ll grow out of it,” type responses. It wasn’t and LL hasn’t. Only now is he (the ped) willing to admit that we may be dealing with a silent reflux (reflux without the spitting up) situation. I  tried everything to avoid having to give LL drugs, but I couldn’t stand seeing him in pain every few hours, so I tried Zantac. Might as well have given LL shots of Jack Daniels... Zantac did nothing. I’ve got a call into the ped to discuss the next step (which will probably include switching peds.)

I've just started working out again after not moving a muscle for over a year. I knew I wouldn't be able to motivate myself, so I emptied my Emergency Pretty Dress Fund to hire a trainer. Despite cutting back on the face stuffing, weaning and amping up my physical activity, I've shed only 3 lbs of the 10 extra lbs that are clinging to my midsection for dear life. And don't go being all supportive best friendy on me and tell me that muffin top is just my imagination. Let's just say that while Ass Kicking Trainer was locking my body in place with his during a rather torturous and intimate stretching session, he put his hand down on what he thought was the matt, but turned out to be the edge of my stomach. I can't blame him for misjudging the distance... the rest of me was like 5 feet away. A little red body paint and I could be mistaken for the Kool Aid man. Should you need further evidence of my body's demise, I will have you know that I cannot do even 1 old fashioned sit up. Not a one. I don't know why I'm surprised since I pretty much gave up situps when I started shooting up Lupron for my first IVF. But, holy shit, I’m weak!
Yesterday Asskicking Trainer decreed I’d have to cut out the Joy Trifecta-- alcohol, cheese (even low fat) and bread (even whole grain)-- if I wanted to see results. That conversation pretty much sapped my will to live. I’ve since decided that I can temporarily bid adieu to my beloved bread and possibly even my sweet cheese, but mamma ain’t going without the occasional booze infusion. I have my priorities.

Sometimes still looking pg almost 5 mos after giving birth DOES have it’s advantages. I went to a wedding last wknd and could not get over just how fabulous the service at the reception was. Every time I approached a different station, I’d place my order (mashed potatoes in a martini glass? Yes, please. With bacon? Dyn-no-mite! Scrambled eggs and truffles? That’s what I’m talkin bout.) the staff person would get a glimpse of my rubber tire and go, “Oh please go sit down. I’ll bring this over when it’s ready. No, I insist.” So then I’d waddle my fat ass back to the seating area, feeling a bit mortified that people think I’m pregnant and even more mortified that I was actually taking advantage of their assumption and even more pissed off that the staff would give me (a non pg person posing as a pg person) preferential treatment just for appearing knocked up. Why is a gravid woman more deserving of ass kissing with her mashed potatoes than a non gravid woman? 

What else?? After suffering the wrath of the Dictator Babynurse for a month (yes I know that even an evil babynurse is a good babynurse, esp when the evil babynurse was being paid by one's in laws, but this woman was truly borderline. At one point I thought that I might be showing the beginning signs of PPD, but looking back I realize I was crying all the time because this awful woman was in my house and Mr Limbo and I were too vulnerable/stupid to fire her), I vowed that I would never, ever have another caregiver cross my threshold. While well meaning and heartfelt that vow made it damn near impossible for me to work, go to a wedding or even take a jog. So about a month ago I slowly started making inquiries and seem to have found a really wonderful woman to help me out a couple of times a week as I get back into the swing of things. I love her because she calls LL her boyfriend and tells me over and over again how sweet and easy he is. I'm sure she says that to all the girls, but that's just the kind of stuff you want to hear when someone is taking care of your child, you know? Also interesting; She mentioned reading about egg donors in Brain, Child... after a bit of prodding and careful information sharing on my part, she revealed that she's 45 and tired of waiting for a family. I gave her RE #3's info in case she decides to look into her options.

And yeah, so LL is mostly sleeping through the night. I feed him at 7ish, he sleeps til 11ish and then I wake him up so that he can quickly suck down a few more ounces before he falls back asleep until 7am. This is a beautiful development and such a welcome change from getting up every three hours. If only I could just put LL back in his crib and go to bed myself. It's only then, as I bask in the glow of his crescent moon night light that it hits me. This is it. What I so wanted and never in a million cycles thought I'd get. How am I supposed to put this fat cherub down and walk away?  I can sleep later.

What we're here for

If you don't read/know DD, you should. She rocks the party that rocks the party. But unfortunately, she's hurting and could use some blogorific love.

The gory details

Forgive the stream of consciousness and the grossness of this birth story. But I'll never tell it if I don't tell it now.

*Water broke at 3:30 am on Monday Oct 2nd as I was getting up to go to the bathroom. We'd just set up the crib that weekend, but Little Limbo's bathroom was unfinished. In fact, the shower is STILL not operational. Grrrrr.

*Contractions started immediately. I somehow got it in my head that the contractions were too close together and that if I didn't leave for the hospital right now that I would end up giving birth in a cab with only a Christmas tree scented air freshener to dull the pain. Finally decided to just throw on some clothes and go. We raced out of our building, me clutching my stomach and hyperventilating, Mr Limbo juggling two overnight bags and the pillow I insisted on bringing with me. Dumb comment from clueless night doorman, "Hey, enjoy your trip, guys!" And no, he wasn't kidding. He actually thought we were going on vacation.

*At the hospital... Several very painful internal exams later, I was confirmed to be in labor. Fast forward to the l and d room, where I demanded and got an epidural. Epi took away the pain but replaced it with an all over itchy feeling. Post epi, we hung out and got to know the l and d nurses. One was about 50 and seriously cool. The woman could tell my hyperactive husband to shut up in the most polite, kind way. One was about 12 and very sweet if inexperienced looking. Found out my doctor was off for Yom Kippor and that Old Greek Doctor whom I'd never met would be doing the delivering. Coupla hours passed. One more exam and was told I could start pushing, which shocked the hell out of me as could not feel a thing below my waist. Blah blah blah, push, push, push for an hour and a half or so... and then chaos. Little Limbo was stuck... with the cord around his neck. The room filled with doctors. 

*4th degree episiotomy.

*At some point—I'm not exactly sure when—my epidural catheter probably fell out. (We only realized this later... much later.)

*More pushing. Feeling like I was being slowly being ripped in half.

*He's out (1:34 pm). One of the thousands of doctors cuts the cord and hands Little Limbo off to another doctor, who promptly takes my baby into the adjoining room before I even lay eyes on him.

*I'm crying hysterically. Little Limbo is not. At all. I proceed to freak the fuck out, assuming that THIS was when I'd finally receive confirmation that the pregnancy would not end well. By now I realize that poor Mr Limbo is crying, too. But it turns out that he is crying for both his child and his wife. I am bleeding profusely. Old Greek doctor inserts his entire arm into me to try to force the uterus to contract. This is excruciating--much more so than pushing LL out. I'm screaming, screaming, screaming. The doctors give me tons of injections in various parts of my body but nothing works to calm me down, dull the physical pain or stop the bleeding. 

* Finally, I hear the faintest sound from LL and a nurse runs him over to me. Instead of that rush of maternal love I'd expected to feel, I'm terrified when I look at him. He has a rather bluish cast and he's barely making any noise and there's no time for me to hold him before he's brought down to the NICU. One of the pediatricians says something about a breathing problem and nerve damage to LL's shoulder, then assures me that my baby is going to be OK. I don't believe him and start screaming at Mr L to go with LL. I'm still bleeding, still screaming every time Old Greek doctor touches me, still terrified. The pain seems to get worse. Mr Limbo is now screaming at Old Greek doctor to stop hurting me and do something. The next thing I know, I'm in the operating room. The anesthesiologists are again pumping me full of something but they can't seem to stop the pain and Old Greek doctor is yelling at them to knock me out RIGHT NOW so that he can stop the bleeding. I immediately determine that being unconscious would be a good thing right now and start screaming, "Knock me out, Knock me out!" 

*Two hours later, I'm wheeled into recovery. I'm barely coherent and only have one thing on my mind when I come to. I constantly ask Mr Limbo if the baby is ok and tell him not to trust the doctors. I'm so drugged that my eyeballs are shaking. I'm visited by many doctors. Several hours later, the drugs start to wear off and I start calling myself firecrotch (the nickname that Brand0n Davi$ gave Lind$ay L0han), which I find hilarious. I'm given lots of morphine, which turns out to be a good thing in the short term, a very bad thing in the long term (but I'll get to that part later).

*I send Mr Limbo down to the NICU with my camera phone for regular updates on Little Limbo, who is hooked up to wires and machines but seems to actually be ok. I won't see him in person for two more days. (I can't stand up long enough to get in a wheelchair and he can't leave the NICU.) This absolutely kills me. 

*At 11:30pm, I'm finally allowed to leave the recovery room.

*The next day, find out that I lost half of my blood supply and the part about the epidural catheter falling out... which explains the crazy pain I felt during the aftermath of the delivery. Also find out that Old Greek doctor thought scar tissue left over from my septum was to blame for the hemorrhage. Dr. TV doesn't agree with this assessment (still need to ask her why during my follow up). I get two more transfusions and continue taking a lot of pain killers.

*Several pediatricians declare LL to be fine. His breathing has improved and his shoulder appears to be Ok. We spring him from the NICU and keep him with us during the day, but send him to the nursery at night.

*We are finally discharged on Friday. I spend the weekend holding LL, thanking God that he is Ok and sobbing (bc I'm still so weak that I can barely hold my head up, let alone take care of him like I'd like to. We try—and try—to breast feed, but I'm not getting much milk, thanks to the blood loss and LL isn't cooperating. After 5 days of formula, he's the poster child for nipple confusion... if there is such a thing. I pump and give him what I can.) LL is the spitting image of my brother but I don't believe that he is mine (um, ours.) I still don't.

*Well, that's not entirely true. I didn't have much time to hold LL that wknd. I was too busy dealing with a lovely side effect of giving birth: massive constipation, which was made worse by the 8 million doses of narcotics I'd taken, the complete lack of fiber in the hospital food, and the stem to stern episiotomy. Let's just say that I lived in the shower for two days. By Monday (LL's 1 wk bday), things had reached crisis proportions. I was compacted. I'd tried absolutely everything (home remedies, laxatives, two kinds of enemas, hot drinks, cold drinks, coffee, phosphosoda, etc.) and had lost all sense of modesty. After several frantic calls from my husband to Dr TV, I went back to the hospital, where I had the most barbaric, horrific, excruciating, demoralizing, gross procedure ever.  Without painkillers.  I'll spare you the details but it was waaaaaay worse than childbirth. This is assvice (get it?) worth taking-- I don't give a shit (again, get it?) what the hospital policy is, do not ever let yourself be discharged before you, well, you know---especially if you've been hopped up on painkillers for several days. And take the Colace they give you, of course, but also demand daily doses of Milk of Magnesia (or somesuch) and bring a box of extremely high fiber cereal with you in your hospital bag. Trust me.

Less dramatic, disgusting posts to follow, I promise.

Ta Da!

Little Limbo entered the world on Monday, October 6th at 1:34 pm. Labor was a breeze, as labors go. The aftermath? Not so much. I ended up in the OR, had 4 transfusions and a 4th degree laceration. LL ended up in the NICU bc of breathing problems and an injured shoulder. More on  the World's Scariest Birth Story later... just in time for Halloween! As of yesterday (Friday) afternoon, we're both home, doing fine and I'm head over heels in love with a much younger man. 

Title

Water just broke.

Oh.

My.

God.

Snort

Check it:

http://www.babytoupee.com/