Saturday, 17 December 2011

What you don't learn in prenatal...

Not only did I attend prenatal classes and listen attentively, but I did an entire semester on women's health when I was in nursing school. Let me tell you something that no one ever told me: The day after you have your first baby, all your goods that were previously tucked neatly between your upper thighs feel as though they are now down to your knees, and God forbid you should have to poop for at least 3 weeks post delivery. At least

So there I was, shuffling down the "Yellow Brick Road" to the front doors of the HSC. Brad had basically everything that I brought with me except for maybe a lip gloss and my water bottle, along with our beautiful one day old baby girl. 

Challenge number one was  trying to ever so elegantly climb into our SUV. Day one post vaginal birth is probably the equivalent to trying to maneuver yourself around with a load of shit in your pants, except you're in a lot of pain too. 

Once I was comfortably seated, and Avery was strapped in according to code, Brad hit the road... at a whopping 40km/hr.  On average, it takes about 20 minutes to get from the hospital to where we live. That's if you're going about 80km/hr and making handbrake turns at every intersection. At this rate we were never going to get home. My husband had turned into an 80 year old.

We managed to get to Paradise without getting into a fatal accident and as a reward I suggested we pop through our local drive through to pick up a six nugget meal. I also made it clear to Brad that this would be my last box of nuggets for some time as I was standing in a wedding in 10 days. That's right. 1o days. At this point in time I had some sort of twisted idea that I would be back in my regular jeans by July 29th (the wedding date... Avery was born the 18th). 

We got home and introduced Avery to Nixon. This went well and by that evening they were clearly BFFLs. 

Once the initial introduction of baby to dog was out of the way, as well as us making up for the whole eating of the amniotic fluid extravaganza, I quickly began to flip through the pages of all the information I was given in prenatal classes. There were no sheets on how to deal with the insides-are-falling-out-of-my-twat sensation, nor was there detailed instructions on how to quickly regain the walk that I had perfected after studying several seasons of America's Next Top Model. 

I made a mental note to use my nursing degree to help others by one day (after I had it all figured out) starting a Post-Natal class where I can share tips and tricks to help with all of the after birthing discomforts. Stay tuned. 

A couple of visitor filled days passed before the glorious day came upon us where my milk came in (Challenge number 2). My knockers were bursting out of my extremely attractive beige 40E nursing bra, and the slightest sucking action from my precious little bundle led to full on milk pyrotechnics shooting everywhere until I was able to get her to latch back on again. So hot. People might say that pregnant women are beautiful, but I bet you if you ask those same people to look at those same women a few days after giving birth, they would eat their words, and then throw them up.

I longed for the day when my boobs would go back down to a D, I didn't have to wear a mattress sized maxi pad reminiscent of grade 7, and I could feel even part way attractive again. Luckily I have a husband who refers to himself as a "Sexual Tyrannosaurus" and he continued to make passes at me throughout the entire 6 weeks that we couldn't have sex. This at least let me know that Brad still found me attractive, although a little voice in my head told me that I kind of was attractive by default. Who would want him now with this kind of baggage anyway? 

His response to that was, "I wanted you when you were pushing 200lbs, sweetheart. Of course I'm going to want you now! Look at your boobs!" 

I know, right. Some sweet!

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