NOTE: Men, sorry, but you are not invited to this discussion. Not that you aren't always welcome to my blog - but this one is just hard for anyone to get unless you have given birth, and not useful to those of the human race who will NEVER give birth. It may contain graphic material not suitable for that same portion of the human race who, is capable of napping on Sundays guilt-free.
Now that we have that taken care of, let's get on with it. I'm stressing about the big, daggum, FOUR-OH, that is looming ever nearer. Yesterday was just a long, sad, reminder that I am AY-GEENG! Blah. T-minus 1 month, 29 days until the day that will live in infamy. Not quite December 7, but two days later - December 9. Hint-hint: you can email me to get the address in which to send the Canon 5d Mark ii, to.
Last night, as I lay in bed, contemplating the day, I tweeted. (No, that does not involve pulling the sheets over my husband's head.):
You see, all three of my children, precious-precious children, decided that when the time was right, they just COULDN'T WAIT to get on out of my body. Morgan-5 hours labor, Bradyn-4 hours labor, Anna (induced 2 weeks early) -7 hours. Keep in mind, I went from 7 centimeters to 0 in a matter of 30 minutes with Anna...excusing her from the previous 6 hours of labor. And, let me just say the term "labor" is used loosely here. I pushed with Morgan for 30 minutes. Bradyn shot on out when the doctor made me laugh. No kidding. I didn't push, I LAUGHED THAT GIRL OUT! My mom says her Native-American name should be "Laughing Moon." And Anna, well, little Anna had to be pushed back up and held there until they could get all the crap set up to catch her in!
So, okay - I know we all LOVE to share our birthing stories, don't we? We love comparing and competing with our fellow moms as to who has the best story! But, all of that was to say, those sweet little girls RIPPED my pelvic floor right out of my body. No kidding - it shot straight across the room and hit Charlie on the back as he was gazing at his new little Peanut. They swept it up and stuffed it back in and it has never done its job quite right ever since. So what does this mean? This means that I cannot lift anything heavier than 30 pounds - without wetting myself. I cannot cough - without wetting myself. I cannot sneeze - without wetting myself. I cannot laugh - without wetting myself. Talk about SEXY! Woo hoo!
Now, I know I will be mortified the second this blog hits the internet. Did you just tell the internet you pee yourself all day? Yes, I certainly did. My hope that it is completely temporary. Already seen the doc and the good ol' Kegels are NOT gonna get it. It is at the point of requiring surgical intervention. Which, I have been assured will be successful...AS LONG AS I DO NOT LIFT ANYTHING OVER 5 POUNDS FOR 8 WEEKS! Oh, lovely. I went in, hoping to get this out of the way so I could get on with my former-young-feeling life. But, dang it, Anna is definitely not under the 5 pound limit. And, she's still in a crib, which requires SOMEONE to hoist her out after naptime. Besides? How can I not lift that sweet baby up in the air and kiss all over her "beh-buh" (belly-button)? Impossible.
So, it looks like I will enter my 40's well-entrenched in the joys of aging. Some of us get to sail through them looking better than ever (Sheryl Crow, Courtney Cox.) No, I'm carrying my industrial sized Costco box of pantyliners with me into the next decade. Blah.