I haven’t been blogging because I don’t feel like it. My fingers are so swollen that my iPhone has ceased to recognize them as digits and I have to tap things up to five times. My feet look like they’re wearing the fat suit of Gwyneth Paltrow in “Shallow Hal.” Today when my bladder was full I had to crawl to the bathroom because the pressure was too much on my disjointed pubic symphysis (pelvic joint). I can’t unload the dishwasher. It’s hard to vacuum. It’s getting really real up in here folks.
Owen’s been playing a lot of iPad games. He even knows how to stream Disney Junior. I’m not bragging, I’m not proud.
And not that I would want to have my baby 5 weeks early, but the fact that Kim Kardashian was a swollen desperate pregnant woman was a small comfort to me that is now gone. You are now dead to me Kim. You hurt me deep.
I recently read What to Expect’s first week postpartum section and started to get an anxiety attack. I think I have post traumatic mastitis disorder. I didn’t enjoy nursing on one side, and I don’t want to do it again. So, here’s to hoping milk will come in on the breast I had surgery on, and that it won’t be horrifically painful when the milk comes in because of scar tissue.
The bright spot is mother. She comes in 6 days.
And as soon as I see Maisy and put her in her sweet, tiny, pink clothes it will be fine.