While we are sharing lady experiences: This week, I got to hang out with Aunt Flo for the first time in 2.5 years. Sure missed her. Mostly because when she comes ’round, I crave and indulge in this:
Mushroom ravioli with meat sauce! Nom, Nom, Nom
There were out of peanut M&M’s. I about cried.
The food almost makes the headaches tolerable. Almost. I also had to make an emergency run to stock up on supplies I had forgotten to keep on hand. Apparently, I am the target audience for this product.
I went in for my annual exam yesterday. (Let that sentence be a warning unto you, fellas.) An unexpected benefit to delivering a baby is that these annual visits are much less dreadful.
First of all, there’s only one person in the room who is expecting to look at your vagina. Though, I will tell you, a pelvic exam is much less festive without bright lights, beeping machines, a mirror, 15 nurses and your spouse in tow.
Also, the infamous “you may feel a little pressure” is a laughable warning to give a woman who, the last time she heard that, proceeded to push a nine-pound replica of her husband out of her lady parts. I’ve got your pressure right here.
Anywho, I love going to doctors offices because of how they decorate their exam rooms with 1984-looking, plastic replicas of human organs. For example:
The NuvaRing on display in the middle there gave me pause. For those of you not familiar with it, The Ring is a form of birth control that resembles and feels like those glitter/water bracelets you wore 20 at-a-time in the 80’s.
Except, you don’t put this bracelet on your arm. The Ring accessorizes you from the inside.
I gave it a go once. For about two hours in the summer of 2007.
I was little confused at how it should work, so I read the manual. Those are always so helpful. I did as instructed, but something didn’t feel right. I took it out and called my doctor’s after hours line.
Me: Hey, I don’t think I did this right.
Doc: I don’t make house calls for vaginal birth control. If you like, you can come back to the office tomorrow and I can put it in for you.
Me: Would you make fun of me if I did that?
Doc: Yes.
Me: (sigh) Nevermind.
Doc: Why don’t you get your partner to help you?
Me: {crickets}
For the next hour, I tried to make it work sitting, standing, crouching. I considered taking a running jump and landing on it. I even Googled potential solutions. Don’t do that, by the way.
Then, out of desperation I called out to Dave:
Me: Baby! I need your help!
Dave: No.
Me: Yes! The doctor said so.
Dave: There’s no way I’m doing that.
Maybe it was frustration, or how hard I was laughing by this point, but suddenly, it worked!
This month, Suzianne shed her infant-ness and became a little person.
She was quite busy during her 10th month on Earth, breaking in three new teeth and discovering many new things about herself. This month, Suzianne:
Found her voice (it’s loud) and began communicating her preferences–via high-pitch squeals–for fun things like daddy, Melissa-the-awesome-nanny, chasing Georgia, Bluegrass music, bath time, Vegas showgirls and guacamole:
Oh, and she’s got some dislikes, too, such as getting dressed, teething, having her fingernails trimmed, and new toys that make too much noise:
She also hates Santa:
This month, she’s started to realize her physical abilities like crawling! and standing with assistance!, as well as limitations, like standing on her own.
Ooo! We even had our first projectile vomiting episode! Lucky for us, it was following a very scary choking episode (She turned purple, ya’ll. It was horrible. But she’s clearly got a rockstar esophagus that knows how to take care of business.) at a nice restaurant in San Diego in front of lots of strangers; lucky for you, I did not get a photo of it. BUT I do have this five minutes later picture, where Suzianne is the happiest baby on the block and could not care less that our table, her stroller and her daddy’s jacket now smell like throw up:
The best part about month 10 is Suzianne’s self-established sleeping routine. She now puts herself to sleep for her 9 a.m. and 2 p.m. naps. Even better: she puts herself to sleep each night at 7 p.m. and sleeps (most nights) until 6 a.m. It’s LOVELY and worth every one of those heartbreaking four or five nights of “crying it out.”
Suzianne continues to be a very chill child who is always happy, unless she’s tired, teething or hungry. Or hungry, but refusing to eat. Or has had the iPhone she was about to eat taken away from her. Or thinks you are trying trick her into taking a nap. She’s also very smart and observant like her father. And a very chatty, loud-talking, crazy person, like me.
Now that my hormones have leveled out, I can honestly say being Suzianne’s momma is a privilege and joy–and I’m thankful for every single moment.
Watch her grow! Take a scroll through the Month-by-Month archives.
If your baby isn’t as regular as you’d like, stock up on wipes, then, feed her this:
…and take cover.
Seriously.
There’s all sorts of things no one tells you about pregnancy. Same goes for life after a baby. But the one thing I SWEAR NO ONE TOLD ME was that a woman’s breasts may actually be SMALLER after breastfeeding than they were prior to breastfeeding.
I want those of you who know me to think about that.
… … …
I KNOW.
Let’s reflect a bit: I have never been a curvy gal, but I had grown accustom to the little bit of curve The Good Lord gave me. Then, I got preggers! AND OMG, THE CURVES! I felt sexy, even while carrying what turned out to be an 8.5 pound replica of my spouse.
After Suzianne was born, I got curvier! The girls went up a full cup size! Um, that would be a B, but still. I got used to having my B’s and sported them proudly. When I stopped breastfeeding, the gals were sore for about two weeks…
Then, one morning, THEY WERE GONE.
Just…gone.
Poof, ya’ll.
How can this happen when I had so little to begin with? I’m really struggling with this, as vein and trivial as it is. I can’t help it.
So, today I marched my tiny chest right over to Victoria’s Secret, where a delightful gal named Josie fitted me for bras.
Josie: “Well, it looks like you’re really a 30A. We don’t actually carry bras that small in the store. You have to special order them.”
Me: “Yeah, well, let’s find me a 32A that mostly fits. I cannot make myself purchase a bra so small that someone with tiny hands in a sweat shop somewhere had to custom sew to fit my freakish frame.”
Josie: “Okay, then!”
I ended up buying three of these. Great fit; fun colors. I feel a little more confident about the way I look now that I’m not wearing a bra that is 75 sizes too big. But I’m still sad that my beloved B’s are gone. {sniff, sniff.}
Anyway, when this happens to you, ladies, don’t mope about for two months like I did. Seek professional help; find your Josie. Retail therapy is the only way to rise above the body image issues that accompany overnight deflation.