Hello Fans. As many of you may know, the Unborn has become The Born! (pause for applause) Paxson entered the world at 7:51am on Sunday, February 6, weighing in at 9 lbs, 3 oz. The Birth Story will follow in a separate post. I'm still processing that. But it's a doozy so stay tuned.
Today's topic of discussion shall center around me and my body. Again.
I just got out of the shower and got a good look at the post-pregnancy silhouette. Definitely looking like a war zone. And I couldn't be more proud! During the pregnancy I was smug about not having stretch marks, turns out they were just joining forces to all invade at once and take over the entire abdomen. It kinda looks like a map of secret tunnels under some old European city, or like the lines in an ant farm. It's also still quite poofy and full, I look like I'm about six months pregnant. And my hips definitely widened for the passage of P's gargantuan noggin, I can feel with my hands the difference in the space between my pelvis and what is currently passing for a waist. But my boobs! Oh, my boobs. Christina Hendricks' got nuthin on these double Ds in all their glory. And I'm willing to bet her boobs aren't shiny, hot and swollen with milk, with various lumpy pockets of blocked ducts and nipples that are cracked and bruised from the early trauma of breastfeeding. I win. Mine are better.
Breastfeeding was a shock. Even though I knew it would probably be a rough start I had no idea how the experience of no sleep plus hormonal adjustments plus excruciating pain could combine to be so harrowing. I cried incoherently and could barely form words. Everything I knew to do and try, all the tips and techniques, fled my mind and I just sobbed and sobbed in pain and frustration, feeling like the world's worst mother. Luckily Clayton pushed for us to reach out for help, and he took the reigns by calling every breastfeeding support person in Pittsburgh (which there are surprisingly, and thankfully, many!) Today's second breakfast (or was it elevensies?) breastfeeding session was our best to date. Breastfeeding is like a dance that P and I perform together and it took a little while to figure out each other's rhythm and style. But with a little help from our local La Leche League on-call leaders, we managed to make some adjustments and are finding our stride. It definitely still hurts at the beginning, but I'm confident that we're headed towards a long and happy nursing relationship.
My body is awesome. I brought this little angel into the world, from just a tiny dot on the ultrasound screen to the 9 lb 3 oz behemoth that is now snoozing in front of me, with his little brow furrowed and his little lip sticking out (He's perpetually pissed off about something. It's adorable.). I will wear these stretch marks with pride! I will celebrate my newly wide hips! I will nurse my child any damn place I feel like it or need to because I Am The Holy Bringer of Life and these breasts are for feeding my child and have nothing to do with your sexual fantasies, thank you very much!
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Is You Is or Is You Ain't My Hemorrhoid
The joys of pregnancy. Pride goeth before birthing, I suppose.
I had a shockingly and probably unfairly smooth early pregnancy. No real morning sickness to speak of, in fact I've only thrown up once during this whole ordeal and that's because I swallowed a bug while I was on my bike. Total gag reflex- not morning sickness. So that's nice. Additionally I and the little guy (oh yeah- it's a boy!) have both been perfectly healthy, all tests good, all systems go. I didn't even find a stretch mark until last week, and I'm in the 40th week now. But in my guilt (more to come on that later), I knew that something must go wrong, something to make me earn this love and happiness. I think I found it last night while on the toilet.
Early on in the pregnancy I learned that some women will develop hemorrhoids. I'd heard the term before but didn't have any idea what it was, really. If you've never seen a picture of a hemorrhoid, I suggest a google image search. In fact, let me help you out. After you've wiped the vomit from your mouth you may begin to wonder, just as I did at first, How is this happening in the 21st century world today??? Why aren't we having gala fundraisers and commercials with Sarah Maclachlan soundtracks and twitchange celebrity auctions to address this horrific problem? We must increase awareness, now! And then after starting your own grassroots awareness campaign you may realize, as so many activists before you have, that some people prefer to remain blissfully ignorant of the great problems of the world. But, determined to bring about positive change, you will doggedly continue your quest and painstakingly remind people of the existence of hemorrhoids every chance you get. "It's best to have open, honest communication", you think. Until you're faced with the problem yourself, that is. Then you cower away in retreat from the familiarity of facebook and start a whole damn blog to discuss your issues with the faceless audience of the interwebs. The hypothetical audience. Hello? Anyone out there???
The hemorrhoid diagnoses problem is a tricky one. The afflicted person is locked into a culture of shame and denial, where even the prospect of seeking medical confirmation of their prolapsed anal blood vessel seems overwhelmingly embarrassing and gross, and a severe blow to the pride, particularly if you're one to take pride in such things as the amount of water you consume and the regularity of your bowel movements (things said to reduce instances of hemorrhoids). But this is one problem that even the most skilled self-diagnostician will likely need assistance with; it is mighty difficult to get the mirror and lighting in place combined with the proper relaxed-sphincter posture to best display the potential protuberance. Add in a rotund 40 week uterus and you're just effed. It's impossible to get a good look. Bring in the husband!
Having not been married even a year, one can't help but think that having your significant other do such a dirty job as checking you for hemorrhoids will put you on the fast track to being the victim of infidelity or, at the very least, will permanently damage your sex life. Lucky for me, I happen to have married The Greatest Man That Has Ever Existed On The Face Of The Planet and so those fears are only fleeting. Fleet fleet. There they go again. But even if you are married to TGMTHEEOTFOTP, it can be mighty hard to relax enough for that thing that you felt while wiping your butt to poke it's little head out while someone's looking for it.
We tried. I could barely let him look, much less relax. Nothing out of the ordinary could be seen. Husband handled it so sweetly and assured me that the experience would not have any negative impact on his sexual attraction to me (fleetfleetfleetfleetfleet).
Next doctor appointment is in two days. I guess if the fears and feeling of a little bubble on my butthole when I wipe persist, I'll have to get it checked out. Until then.
I had a shockingly and probably unfairly smooth early pregnancy. No real morning sickness to speak of, in fact I've only thrown up once during this whole ordeal and that's because I swallowed a bug while I was on my bike. Total gag reflex- not morning sickness. So that's nice. Additionally I and the little guy (oh yeah- it's a boy!) have both been perfectly healthy, all tests good, all systems go. I didn't even find a stretch mark until last week, and I'm in the 40th week now. But in my guilt (more to come on that later), I knew that something must go wrong, something to make me earn this love and happiness. I think I found it last night while on the toilet.
Early on in the pregnancy I learned that some women will develop hemorrhoids. I'd heard the term before but didn't have any idea what it was, really. If you've never seen a picture of a hemorrhoid, I suggest a google image search. In fact, let me help you out. After you've wiped the vomit from your mouth you may begin to wonder, just as I did at first, How is this happening in the 21st century world today??? Why aren't we having gala fundraisers and commercials with Sarah Maclachlan soundtracks and twitchange celebrity auctions to address this horrific problem? We must increase awareness, now! And then after starting your own grassroots awareness campaign you may realize, as so many activists before you have, that some people prefer to remain blissfully ignorant of the great problems of the world. But, determined to bring about positive change, you will doggedly continue your quest and painstakingly remind people of the existence of hemorrhoids every chance you get. "It's best to have open, honest communication", you think. Until you're faced with the problem yourself, that is. Then you cower away in retreat from the familiarity of facebook and start a whole damn blog to discuss your issues with the faceless audience of the interwebs. The hypothetical audience. Hello? Anyone out there???
The hemorrhoid diagnoses problem is a tricky one. The afflicted person is locked into a culture of shame and denial, where even the prospect of seeking medical confirmation of their prolapsed anal blood vessel seems overwhelmingly embarrassing and gross, and a severe blow to the pride, particularly if you're one to take pride in such things as the amount of water you consume and the regularity of your bowel movements (things said to reduce instances of hemorrhoids). But this is one problem that even the most skilled self-diagnostician will likely need assistance with; it is mighty difficult to get the mirror and lighting in place combined with the proper relaxed-sphincter posture to best display the potential protuberance. Add in a rotund 40 week uterus and you're just effed. It's impossible to get a good look. Bring in the husband!
Having not been married even a year, one can't help but think that having your significant other do such a dirty job as checking you for hemorrhoids will put you on the fast track to being the victim of infidelity or, at the very least, will permanently damage your sex life. Lucky for me, I happen to have married The Greatest Man That Has Ever Existed On The Face Of The Planet and so those fears are only fleeting. Fleet fleet. There they go again. But even if you are married to TGMTHEEOTFOTP, it can be mighty hard to relax enough for that thing that you felt while wiping your butt to poke it's little head out while someone's looking for it.
We tried. I could barely let him look, much less relax. Nothing out of the ordinary could be seen. Husband handled it so sweetly and assured me that the experience would not have any negative impact on his sexual attraction to me (fleetfleetfleetfleetfleet).
Next doctor appointment is in two days. I guess if the fears and feeling of a little bubble on my butthole when I wipe persist, I'll have to get it checked out. Until then.
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