McAngel

So yesterday's post brought me A LOT of emails. Most were supportive and some were warnings (kind of like "your face will freeze like that" warnings) one was from a man who wanted to suck my toes... but I have enough problems. Anyway, thanks for everyone who wrote saying they had felt the exact same way at some point. That is why I did that post, because when I had my first baby 12 years ago I didn't know that many women go through a day, a week, a month, a year where they feel they have hit a wall. Yesterday's post brought me two realizations... the first is that I am so very thankful I am not a Scientologist and married to Tom Cruise, and the second was that it is amazing what eating a half of a chocolate cake that the neighbor brought over can do for one's outlook... and I just convinced myself that the baby will nurse all of those extra calories right out of me. Today is a better day.

OK, on to a different topic... yesterday I was filling out our Wee One's baby book and it wanted to know the name of the Doc who delivered her. This sounds like an easy question, except for the fact that I have no idea the name of the Doc that delivered our baby. I sat startled, I don't even know if he was a REAL Doc or if he was the floor janitor!

When I made my way up to Labor and Delivery, I met a very nice Doc. He checked me and that was the last time I saw him because of shift change. I met the next Doc who was a female and very sweet... younger than me and skinnier, but still sweet. Later in the evening another Doc strolled in to introduce himself and let me know that he was "supervising" the female Doc that I had already met. I also met my anaesthesiologist, who was by far my favorite Doc in the entire hospital--I plan on doing an entire post on him in the near future, that is how much I liked him. Anyway, the two OB Docs were the only two Docs I knew of and I assumed one of them would be delivering our baby. In the military, you get who is on call basically-no matter who you have been seeing for the past 9 months.

Well, things started moving along and I started to feel a lot of pressure and I wanted to push. I could not push because the Doctors were all busy with other women--the nerve! As I lay there breathing in and out with each contraction trying not to push, our wee one's heart rate dropped. I was not alarmed, I know this happens and I just figured it was her way of saying "Let's move this along shall we?" Well, before I knew it, there were a GAZILLION Docs in my room... and I recognized not one of them. Where did they all come from? There must have been a Doc convention in the cafeteria and they all decided to converge in my room. They were having a vagina party, and my vagina was the main event!

Finally one Doc decided to take charge and as I looked at him, I realized that he was gorgeous. I am not talking "this man is going to save me from this pain" gorgeous, I am talking "Grey's Anatomy" gorgeous. I instantly nicknamed him McAngel in my mind. He instructed the nurses to roll me from my left side to my right side back to my left, all the while having my rear end shifted back and forth completely open for all to view which I am willing to bet looked a lot like a walrus being shifted from left to right on a chucks pad. I was cursing myself for not getting that bikini wax because although I was about to birth a baby, I realized I was about to do it in front of a gorgeous man whom I had never seen before!

My hair was a mess and my make up was all but gone... not to mention that my husband was standing next to me holding my leg up in the air. You just can't get a flirt on with a gorgeous Doc when your husband is holding up your leg and you are half naked.

I birthed the baby, McAngel fixed me up and shook my husband's hand and departed. I never saw him again. I didn't even get his name. I don't even know if he was a real man or a figment of my drug altered imagination. All I do know is that he was hot... which is such a weird thought to have about the Doc who just saw your unmentionables being mentioned all over the room. All of this made me start to think how easy it would be to impersonate a Doctor. McAngel could very well have been a model for Calvin Klein who wanted to see what life is like for an OB Doc and he picked my delivery to try it out. If that is the case, he did a good job and he should seriously consider dropping the modeling and become a full-time Doc, although I would much rather see him be a orthopedic doc, or a podiatrist rather than an OB Doc.

June Cleaver rule #2765: Never go to a gorgeous gyno. You will leave hoping for a phone call that will never come.

Today is THAT Day

Today is the day... the one where my hormones make me into a crying, screaming, crazy mom.

Today is the day... the one where I can only scream at my husband for not understanding that I don't want his help-but that he isn't doing anything to help me!

Today is the day... where I start to cry because my son won't pick up his socks from the floor.

Today is the day... where I hide in my closet with my head in my hands weeping because I can only wear maternity pants.

Today is the day... the one that only allows me a 45 second shower because no one can hear the baby cry but me and our three year old.

Today is the day... the one where I become insanely jealous of my neighbor who's children are all grown and out of the house and she can come and go in life as she pleases.

Today is the day... the one where I see my blessings as burdens.

Today is the day... where I secretly fantasize about what life would be like without children.

Today is the day... where I want to burn all of the baby books in the world because no one tells you about this day-the one where you hurt, you are sad, and you just want to run away.

Today is the day... when I can't see my life ever getting out of the nursing, diapering, and baby stage.

Today is the day... where I feel trapped.

Today is the day... where I know this is all hormones, but I can't help but feel overwhelmed and under qualified.

Today is the day... where I want all the other moms to know that we all go through this.

Today is the day... where I want all the moms to know that although they feel alone-we have all been at this exact same place.

Today is the day... where I have to convince myself that tomorrow will be better, and next week is not so far away.

Today is the day... that although I feel guilty for all of my thoughts and worries, I am still a good mom and I am OK.

I hate today.

On a positive note... today is the day my "outie" bellybutton turned back into an "innie!"

You Know What the Kitty Said...

A while back I read an article about a tiny boat that the Coast Guard had recovered off the coast of Florida. It was full of Cubans trying to make their way to a better life in 'Merica. They were lost at sea for some time and they had run out of food. The only source of nourishment they had were the two women on board this little dingy that were lactating. When they found the boat, the article said that the women were in bad shape with bite marks all over themselves.

Today... I feel like I am lost at sea and feeding the entire boat!

My nipples are in PAIN! Good Golly Miss Molly... this is love I tell ya. I recall this dance with blinding pain with all of my babies and I am well aware of the fact that the pain will subside in a few days when my titties toughen up, but until then I keep telling myself to stay away from the Tequila... because although alcohol may dull the pain, it may very well get me pregnant again and in the same situation that I am in right now.

I remember when I was a little kid and I would ask my mom for some random thing and she would say no. I would complain and her response to me was always:
"You know what the kitty said"
To which I would say:
"What did the kitty say?"
And my mom would only tell me "Tough"
It was years later that I found out that the kitty said "Tough titty, but the milk is sweet."

Tough titty... boy oh boy.

I am in that stage where I go to nurse, I get all situated and ready to nurse, I position my precious little baby perfectly for a good latching, and then I wait... I have to talk myself into that actual "latch." I have to breath deep, say a prayer, coax myself into feeding and then eventually stuff this gawd awful big swollen nipple into my baby's tiny little mouth-that is no bigger than a bird's mouth. It is like stuffing John Candy into a pair of spandex pants... it is achievable, but it is a challenge... and it would probably work better with a gallon of oil.

So today's post in in honor of those poor Cuban women who had some tough titties when they were rescued-I can empathize with you. My baby may only be 8 lbs, but she can pack a mean suck that would put any hungry person lost at sea to shame.