• There are many times when I do something strenuous and suddenly think, “OH Shit. I think my incision may be ripping apart.” And I go look in the mirror (or try, the giant floppy belly is cumbersome to move around) and all is still attached. Is this just me or is this a trait of all c-section patients?
• What is up with my bladder? I’ll be sitting there minding my own damn business and then suddenly I’m all, “AAAH. Must. Pee. Now.” And it’s one of those situations where - if I don’t hit the toilet in 7 seconds - I’ll pee on the floor. What happened to the gradual sensation of a full bladder? Will I ever see that again?
• Did my daughter always use my abdomen as a prop when getting on and off the couch/bed/recliner? And am I just now noticing because of the wound? Or is this a new things she’s doing just because she loves me so?
• I must have spent the last few days walking with a weird hunch or stance to avoid unnecessary pressure on my abdomen, because suddenly today? My back is wrenched. And I realized as I tried to straighten it up that I don’t think I’ve straighted it in five days. I’m thinking now that the hunchback walk can only have magnified my post-surgery sexiness to intolerable levels and my poor husband is a saint for finding a way not to jump my sexy body when confronted by such HOTTNESS.
• I’m sleeping better than my first few days home with NikkiZ, which is allowing the days between the nights to be a little more enjoyable. With NikkiZ I spent most of them in tears in the corner of the bedroom. This time I’m crying more in the living room and kitchen. It’s the subtle differences, really.

Lastly…

I had a hard time watching this and not joining in. I hate that about the recovery process. Letting the fun stuff happen with me on the sidelines. Especially when it requires my husband to be prancing around without a shirt on. Sigh.

LilZ came back home yesterday and we spent the day being one big happy family. That actually somehow manages to ALL squeeze into a Honda Fit, giving a whole new interpetation of the name, “Fit.” Granted, we looked like a group of clowns getting out of it - but still - we fit!

We also took our first bath (not as a family, that would be weird) and our first walk around the block. That we cut short at the end of the street because I suddenly remembered I had been sliced open less than a week ago and maybe I should take it easy.

It’s been a good day, although I still have not figured out a new family system. When you add a new member, things get shifted in terms of responsibility and priority. Like - MrZ is now in charge of everything but feeding the new baby and I am only in charge of feeding the new baby. I’m not sure if this is fair or not, but it’s the system we seem to have adopted for the first few days and I’m not filing any complaints about it. MrZ, on the other hand, is passed out asleep on the floor of our bedroom as I write this. I’m thinking maybe he’s tired? Worn out from several days of going non-stop as Mother, Father, Zookeeper, Gardener, Maid and Cook? Ya think?

So - remember last night’s post about how I was hoarding my pain medication b/c I was scared to run out? Well…I have taken nothing but ibuprofen for about 12 hours and you know what? I kinda feel fine. Almost getting close to “normal.” I’m thinking now about not taking the real pain medication until bedtime to help me rest (because it’s hard to get comfy with an incision) but really? I’m not in much pain.

Leave it to me to be all WOE IS ME! END OF THE WORLD! And the next day? I’m fine.

NikkiZ has been extraordinarily helpful through this whole process. She asks to hold “Baby AndyZ” every 10 minutes. She really wants to do nothing more than just be with him. It’s the most awesome thing. She gets diapers for me when I ask and she carries things for me when we switch rooms. Who wants to place bets on how long this will last? I’m guessing…three days. Right about the time he first spits up on her dolls. Then she’ll be wanting to send him back to the hospital.

After finally convincing someone I needed pain relief stronger than Motrin (Motrin? REALLY? After being sliced and diced?) I had a much better evening last night. I visited with friends and family without crying and I even rested a few hours throughout the night. We arrived home today sometime after lunch and I’m already dreading running out of the precious 15 pain pills they sent home with me. I’ve taken one of the pills and cried fifteen minutes ago because I’m due for another one and I don’t want to take it because then I’ll only have 13 left!

Things are going to get ugly around here the next few days…brace yourself.

I’m exhausted but thrilled to be home. I’ll feel even better when LilZ gets back from his Dad’s tomorrow. Then our whole family will be back together in our home and the real fun will begin. Or maybe I’ll finish my tumble off the deep end, we’ll see.

All in all? We’re doing well. Happy, healthy, and knee deep in spit up and poop. Anyone care to join us?

Things That I Blocked From My Memory The Last C-Section FOR VERY GOOD REASON:

• The trouble with getting in and out of these damn hospital beds when you’re SHORT. And have been recently DISSECTED. Why can’t I lower this thing anymore? And can someone bring me a ladder? I’m going to feel like a huge dumbass if I rip open my incision hopping into bed.
• The numerous times you get asked whether or not you’ve “passed gas.” The nurse asks me every time she checks on me. There’s something about a c-section (either the surgery part or the anesthesia part) that makes your abdominal cavity trap gas or something weird. And if you don’t actually sart (as NikkiZ would say) it will get more and more painful. And when I say “painful” - I mean “HOLY SHIT. THAT HURTS MORE THAN THE SURGERY ITSELF.”
• Oh, yeah. There’s also no way to force yourself to sart. Did you know that? I forgot. The pain just gets worse and worse and sometimes you can work it out by walking but essentially the trapped gas just keeps stabbing you in whatever part of your body it can reach. For me? It’s my shoulders. I have gas pains in my shoulders. I’m impressive.
• Poop. They also like to ask you about your Poop and whether or not it has moved from your intestines to the toilet. Now - I don’t like to make a big deal about poop - it’s not my style. I’m a Stealth Pooper who prides herself on getting in and out in less time than it takes to pee. But this situation? Allows for almost no stealthiness. Even if the whole world didn’t know by the amount of time you spent in the bathroom, or by the pained sounds accompanying the experience, the joyous, “I DID IT!!!” you scream on your way out of the bathroom will give it away. I also might have even done an, “I Pooped!” dance. Maybe.

Stop asking me about my poop!