The Low Down

So, I have my 6 week postpartum OB/Gyn visit next week and I'm a tad nervous.

You know how they say all babies steal a piece of their mamas' hearts? Well, I think mine may have stolen something else when he went hurtling out of the birth canal. Was he grabbing at my innards with those tiny dagger-like baby nails?  Was he trying to guarantee there would be no more miracle babies in our family, by ripping my uterus out? Or, although quite toothless, was he somehow fighting tooth and nail to stay inside the cozy chamber of my womb?

Who knows? But something doesn't feel quite right even after almost 6 weeks. You know, a little twinge-y. Sure, I'm no longer wearing an adult diaper and spraying myself with Dermoplast. My self care the past few weeks has been more about brownies and ice cream than sitz baths and ice packs. But I should have known there could be trouble when the doctor spent more time stitching me up than she spent delivering my sweet bundle of joy.

I remember my last postpartum doctor's visit, almost 15 years ago. The elderly male doctor said with a hardy-har and a big smile, "Now you can go home and do your wifely duty!" My first thought was, "Um, did he really just say 'wifely duty'?" My second thought was, "Poor Tim is going to miss out because I am now mad at the whole patriarchal society, AND my boobs are leaking."

I'm guessing if my new OB/Gyn gives me the green light at the appointment, hopefully in far less sexist words, I may have to proceed with caution. Wouldn't a yellow light be wiser than a green light, anyway?

Who knows? I'm hopeful there will be an easy fix to get things back to normal down there.

If not, I could always do what I did after that last visit all those years ago.

Tim:   (hopeful countenance, eyebrows raised) "Um, so, what did the doctor say?"
Anna:  (fake look of disappointment, shaking head slowly) 10 weeks. He said we need to wait 10 weeks.




p.s. I may be joking a bit here about my own discomfort, but I have access to great medical care. There are many women around the world who lack the resources to get help for OB/Gyn injuries, and it leads to ostracism and life-long disability. Every woman should know about The Fistula Foundation and the amazing work it does!

Leave a Teachable Moment Alone

Jake had been complaining that he'd heard a lot of cussing from boys his age lately.

He said, "I'm afraid I'm going to begin thinking all those words are just normal parts of conversation."

Seizing on the teachable moment, I said, "Well, this is a good life lesson for you. The same thing will happen when you are a teenager with smoking and sex, but you need to be different."

"What? Are you saying teenagers have sex with their girlfriends?!?"

Uh...

Crud.

Flashback Friday-- TMI

For Flashback Friday, we're digging into the archives for a post about one of my favorite subjects-- The Gyno. Originally posted 10-13-08.

With school in session, I can take care of a lot of things I put off during the summer, things I don't want to have the kids around for. I'm thinking haircuts, doctors' appointments, the dentist. This has not always been the case. If you are an at-home mom with little ones, you have probably taken your kids lots of places you wish you hadn't. Even a trip to the grocery store can be a major pain.

I remember taking both kids to the gyno with me when they were little. This, of course, would not have been my first choice, but circumstances prevented my getting a sitter that day and off we went. Now a pregnancy visit is one thing-- pee in a cup, the weigh-in, a little feeling of the tummy. This was an annual exam.

The waiting room wasn't bad, although I wonder if a few of the pregnant women were self-righteously thinking, "MY kids will never act like that!"
Does this happen to you? When the waiting room time is over, you think you're close to seeing a doctor, but instead you are tucked into a tiny examining room, told to strip, and then you wait for a seemingly interminable length of time. Maybe it just seems long because of the lack of pants.

When you are on your own, you can artfully fold your little pile of clothes on a chair, pull the paper robe around you and read old copies of Good Housekeeping. With an 18 month and a three year old in tow, you are simply on germ and damage patrol.

Keeping order in such a small space was nearly impossible for me. Within seconds, my neat pile of clothes hit the floor and Molly started caressing the Sharps container. When I got her away from that, she tried to lick the stirrups. Ugh. Three year old Jake was easier to restrain. Sure, at one point he opened the door to expose me in my paper-gowned glory to folks in the hallway, but I actually think that helped get the doctor in sooner.

During my exam, Jake asked, "Mommy, why does that man have his hand in your bottom?" Yikes. I quickly thrust an old National Geographic at him. "Here, read about the pretty zebras." My exam was brief, to say the least, and after the doctor's hasty retreat, I retrieved my clothes from the floor and began to dress.

Jake soon had another question, "Mommy, why are these people all bloody?" Yep, zebras may have been on the cover, but the magazine was documenting a massacre, in full color.

For those of you in the throes of toddlerhood and preschool, I wish for you unencumbered visits to the gyno, the dentist, and maybe even to get a pedicure. The day will come when you can do all these things on your own again. I know we aren't to wish away our kids' childhoods, but I think in certain circumstances it's okay.

In the Blink of a (Red) Eye

Have you ever seen one of those TV shows where you get an inner monologue of what’s going on inside a person’s mind? I think this is highly unrealistic, because I KNOW there’s a heck of a lot more going on in the average person’s mind than just a random thought or two. At least this is true of my own mind at any given moment.

The running commentary in my head ranges from the mundane to the wacky to the outrageous, and I am glad it stays private. It could be a personal pep talk, a petty gripe, or an irrational fear depending on the second. If I tried to share this info with you, you would either die of boredom, think I’m crazy, or both.

I can be driving in the car, looking out the window, and I’ll go from, “Whoa, I didn’t know they even made pants like that anymore,” to thinking about pantiliners or my bra, wondering why people call Alzheimer’s “Al-timers” or “Old-Timers,” feeling lonely—or itchy—or witchy, wondering what a shmoo is, or pondering my faith all in the time it takes to blink.

The good news is that women are known for being great multi-taskers. Grocery lists during intimate moments anyone? Yeah, NEVER at this house either, but you know what I mean.

We also have pretty good filters, preventing us from indulging in TMI, except occasionally in the blog world. A blog can be a great place for a brain dump, now and then, and the sharing of stuff you wouldn’t feel comfortable bringing up in the line at Target. What I like about blogs, however, is not hearing every little thought that goes through someone’s mind, or happens in her day, but knowing what she thinks about it, and what significance it has to her.

For instance, I could tell you that in the above picture, one of my eyes is killing me because I inadvertently left a tiny sliver of Irish Spring under one fingernail after my shower And in the middle of my kids' music concert I touched my eye, thereby lodging said sliver in it. Then, to avoid screaming in pain and disrupting the concert I ran out of the room and began flushing it with water in the bathroom sink. And when I got back I had to sit with my head in my hands for the duration of the concert. And then I looked like a red-eyed freak as I avoided the sweet lady who had called me to help her with the post-concert reception, but whom I never called back because I'm a loser. And the whole time I was extra tired anyway because I'd just started my period....

You get the picture, so I won't go on.

God is the only one who is privy to everything going on in our lives and to our unfiltered thoughts. Fortunately, He’s big enough to handle them.

If you are still awake reading this, I’d like to apologize for the times I veer (and will continue to veer) toward the side of TMI.

Let me just say, tip of the iceberg, baby.

An Ektorp By Any Other Name...

On vacation a few summers ago I was chatting with my friend’s husband, while the hubby of another friend sat nearby. I asked Andy, “How do you like your Ektorp?” referring to his couch from Ikea. I’d had my eye on the Ektorp for a while, for its good looks and low price, but I just hadn’t been able to commit.

Andy replied that he liked it just fine, especially the fact that it was washable and had a 10 year guarantee.

Brian, the other hubby nearby, looked at us with both eyes bugging out of his head. Washable???? 10 year guarantee?????“What ARE you two talking about?” he wanted to know.

“The Ektorp,” a couch from Ikea, I replied. “What did you THINK we were talking about?” Brian proceeded to tell us he thought we were talking about Andy’s recent vasectomy. His reasoning? Well, he knew Andy was the only man in the house with one of those, and he figured I might be interested in getting Tom some of the snip snip too.

I was shocked and amused. Even though I sometimes (okay, often) venture into the realm of TMI, doesn’t it seem rather, well, ballsy that I would be discussing something so personal w/ a friend’s husband? I just wanted to know about a couch!

Since then, our circle of friends has referred to vasectomies as Ektorps. So much so that when I told the gyno I wanted to talk about permanent birth control, the word vasectomy was lost to me. All I could think of was Ektorp! I had to get into a rather detailed description… “you know, the thing where they cut the man’s….”

I find it interesting that Tom and I have yet to be able to commit to either kind of Ektorp. Twice we’ve made the pilgrimage to Ikea to look at the couch, including once last weekend. We sat side by side with the kids to see if it was a good fit for family movie night. It was. Twice we’ve left without buying.

And the other kind of Ektorp? We’ve been pre-op before but have canceled at the last minute, not knowing if that Ektorp was right for us either.

I’m sure you’ll appreciate which kind of Ektorp I’ve chosen for a photo today.