Tag Archives: pregnant

Episi-WHAT-omy?


imagesI didn’t hear the word “episiotomy” until I was a young adult. I guess my mother never deemed it necessary to discuss the topic. Even though it kind of falls under the whole sex talk category.

You know, love, sex, conception, childbirth, episiotomy.

I mean, I completely understand her reasoning. She wanted grandchildren. She must have known if I knew what could become of the skin between my vulva and rectum during childbirth, I may have joined the nunnery instead of motherhood.

The first time I did hear the word, I was a twenty-something professional working for a large corporation. A co-worker who recently had a baby somehow felt it was her civic duty to give me the nitty-gritty of what can happen to your perineum during the delivery of a child.

After I received the blow-by-blow, I walked out of her office looking like I had seen the Ghost of Christmas Yet-to-Come, with a rectum closely resembling Kim Kardashian’s lips in selfie mode.

But I was young and single. The thought of having babies was far away. Besides, from what I heard, it didn’t happen to everyone. I was certain I would be one of the lucky ones when the time came. So, I tried to relax and forget about it.

Which I did.

Until it happened.

Fast forward to Delivery Day. I am the age of thirty-one and in the throes of childbirth. Screaming every obscenity with each contraction that would make even the devil blush.

After the worst pain known to man was over and my beautiful baby was on this side of the world, it turns out I wasn’t one of the lucky ones. I didn’t feel a thing at first. Not until all the drama of what just went on down below the waist subsided.

“My God, what is that PAIN?” I screamed. “Why does it hurt like I was accosted by a jack hammer?” For a moment, I started to panic. Wondering if they got confused. I came in to have a baby, not a colonoscopy performed by a member of Laborers Union #60.

And then I remembered. It came back to me like last night’s chimichanga. My co-worker was absolutely 110% correct. I got cut all right. I was also ripped like a flimsy piece of poster board.

Yup, my sweet baby girl, the fruit of my loins, tore my bottom to smithereens.

I never actually looked down there to confirm, but I heard from a witness (my husband) that my incision was in the shape of a lightening bolt. Does this make me a super hero?

Well, yes. Obviously. That goes without saying.

But I didn’t want to see. The thought brought me back to that day at the office. It made me want to clench my posterior nether region like all those years before, but any clenching down there made me wish I was born a man.

I tried so desperately to not let the thought of its presence enter my mind. But it just kept popping up like a Whac-A-Mole at the county fair.

I was prescribed some stool softeners and a sitz bath and was sent on my merry way. When I walked, I felt as if I was channeling John Wayne. Except I wasn’t as sexy. Or nearly as cool.

The drive home from the hospital was not exactly a ride through Happy Town. Every bump and pothole was felt from here to Timbuktu. My thighs burning from holding up my own body weight. Which, I dare say, was a bit more than I was hoping for.

Ahh, the baby weight. The gift that keeps on giving.

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May I introduce to you the “Donut Pillow” AKA Butt…err, Life Saver.

Once I settled in at home, my mother — bless her heart — gifted me with the best item I ever received. It came in the form of a pillow. It was shaped like a donut and was soft and billowy.

Me and my donut pillow did not go anywhere without each other for a long time. We were thick as thieves. Stuck together like glue. He was the Frick to my Frack. The Ying to my Yang.

The sitz bath also helped tremendously with the discomfort. I was told to do 2-4 sessions a day. If anyone is unaware of what a sitz bath is exactly, it’s this contraption that looks like a little tub and rests inside your toilet seat. You fill it with warm water and this special solution and then you sit on it. There is a hose that you can use to aim that liquid miracle right at your incision with. It is total nirvana.

CX_P708-00_Image1I was so completely obsessed with this thing, that my 2-4 times a day was more like 12-14 times a day. I couldn’t get enough of it. I was sitting on that toilet like the Queen of Sheba. Ordering my husband around from my perch, feeding myself stool softeners as if they were peanut M&Ms.

Anyway, glad I survived that. It has been over nineteen years, but I still remember like it was yesterday.

They told me you forget the pain of childbirth. Something about the release of oxytocin or endorphins? You know, so you’ll do it again and humanity can continue to exist.

It’s hogwash.

How do I know? Well, I only have one kid. You be the judge.

Maternity Wear Third Floor

Have you seen pregnant women these days?  I see them all the time at My Retail Job.  They are cute as a damn button. Cute.as.a.button.  Why?  Because maternity wear designers stopped making tents.  Either that or tent designers stopped making maternity wear.  I’m glad for the modern pregnant lady.  I’m also a bit jealous.  15 years ago, all that was available was the Coleman Special XXL.

I was so excited to start showing.  I couldn’t wait to wear maternity wear.  Because I was so impatient, I would go into a dressing room and strap on whatever size belly I wanted and had at it.  As I tried on one dress, or shirt or pants after another, I felt more and more horrible.

All DH heard from the other side of the curtain was “Oh God”, “ooohhhhh no”, “Give me a break”, “Dear Lord”, “You’ve got to be kidding”, “What the f***” (before WTF was fashionable) and finally “I give up.”  He would feverishly bring me more and more things to try on.  I remember it just getting worse and worse.  One tent was as awful and ugly as the next.  And lest I remind you, I wasn’t even big yet.  I hadn’t gained much weight.  I was barely showing.  My booty was still a size Small, so were my thighs, arms and boobs.  You can just imagine how these articles of clothing looked on me when I was showing.  Lucky for you, I have attached a pic.  Enjoy:

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Maybe a belt would have made things better. But probably not.

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So, today’s expectant mom?  I guess I just should have thrown on a t-shirt from my drawer.  Or a wrap-dress from my closet.  Because that is basically what they are wearing.  These new age maternity clothes are fitted and flattering.  Seriously.  Why didn’t I think of that?  Can I rewind time?  Can I ask for my uterus back?  Because I want a do-over.

I swear I had a dress just like this.

I swear I had a dress just like this.and 14 of these

…and 20 of these.