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Browsing Tag: postpartum

They Forgot to Mention

Just like the sadistic types will tell a woman that she’ll forget the pain of childbirth (they lie, women of the world. THEY LIE. Because even if you can’t remember every single excruciating contraction, or the moment you threw up cherry popsicles all over the nurse holding your leg, or that pesky time your water broke on the triage floor and your husband almost fainted, you don’t forget the experience. Do you hear me?! You will never forget), there are three issues no one, and I mean no one, feels the need to mention to a pregnant woman. Let’s list these three shocking realities in the order they will appear, shall we? (Pregnant women, and one-day-to-be-pregnant women: consider yourself warned.) 1.  The night sweats. I don’t understand how I missed the memo on these. In not one baby-prep book, nor website, nor casual conversation with another women (the cruelty!) did anyone mention how a new mom will dissolve into a disgusting, crumbled-up, wet tissue of sweaty glop every night for weeks after her baby is born. The first time around, I thought I was…

Whatever, Gisele

I’m nine weeks postpartum, and was feeling okay about myself, overall. I mean, am I going to be trotting myself around in a bikini anytime soon (ever)?  Gads, no. Am I back in my old clothes yet? Dude. I already said, it’s only been nine weeks. I’m not Gisele, who gives birth in a bathtub at home then goes out and buys a two-piece.  Sheesh. But for nine weeks out of childbirth, and my third c-section, and, you know, the sleepless nights and sore boobs and yaddayaddayadda, I’m doing okay. Like, I wore mascara today. Where’s my paparazzi shot, eh? So imagine my surprise, when, as I was helping Saoirse zip up her coat today, she leaned forward to touch my necklace (Oh, did I mention I was wearing a necklace? Yeah, that’s right. I have the foresight to put together jewelry to wear out in public. Take THAT, Gisele!).  It was a beaded one, with multiple strands designed to keep people’s eyes UP HERE, rather than on the grossly ample (for me) cleavage that ebbs and flows out of my top depending on…