C-Section Mamas: HOLLAH!

Okay.

So it’s been a while since we’ve had a little chat about my Lady Business.

And I know you’ve just been sitting around, in those moments when you really have nothing going on, and wondering to yourself, “Self, what on EARTH is happening in and around Watson’s Girly Bits these days? Hmmmmm…must remember to e-mail and inquire.”  Except then you get all busy again and your e-mail to me falls farther and farther down your To-Do list.

And I forgive you. Because I have a big heart like that.

And I wouldn’t want your concern for me and my bits to get the better of you, you know, keep you up at night and such.  So let’s have a little chat. Especially my fellow c-section twin Mommies, seriously crack those knuckles gals, as if you’re about to give a piano recital, and GET TO TYPIN’.

Momma wants some comments, chickens.

Remember those posts during my pregnancy (also know as The Time I Swelled Up Like Free Willy) when I was totally freaked out about the state of the flippy flaps?  Well, you’ll be happy to know that they did, in fact, pretty much shrink back to a fairly normal size since having the babies.  I know! One less thing keeping you up at night, am I right?

BUT.

I have an issue. A major issue.  And I’m not quite sure how to explain it.

Let me try to draw you a picture:  So I did, in fact, gain about a million pounds.  Some of it was carrying two fairly giant babies. (Not GIANT giant, like I was gestating two baby elephants, but you know what I mean.)  Some of it was the liver problem that caused me to gain a pound of water A DAY towards the end of the pregnancy. And some of it was due to the chocolate milkshakes I drank to ease the heartburn. But my point IS my stomach expanded to an unruly and completely terrifying girth.

And then I had the c-section and lost close to 50 pounds in about two weeks. So my skin was stretched out and then snapped back, like a huge, fleshy stretch mark-covered rubber band. (God help you if you’re unlucky enough to be reading this post during your lunch break!)

So annnnyyyywaaaaay….I now have this…this…section of skin that sits a lot lower than it should.  My lower abdominal flesh is, well, sort of saggy. SUPER saggy, you might say. In a very Golden Girls kind of way.  Not that I’ve seen any of the Golden Girls without their panties and I don’t mean any disrespect to Estelle Getty, was she the one who just died?  God rest her soul. 

But what I’m trying to tell you is there is this…ummmmm…an overhang, if you will.  At certain times it looks remarkably like an awning.  Like a beige and pink striped awning.  (Thanks for nothing stretch marks!) Sometimes I imagine it IS an awning, like at a cute little French sidewalk cafe.  And I imagine under this awning there are attractive young couples drinking black coffee and discussing politics and the chic new First Lady and her scandalous past and planning their next trip to the French countryside for wine tasting and I imagine it could be called ‘Girl Parts Adjacent’ (because that’s CLASSY right??) and then I’m all GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF YOU FREAKING NUT BALL.  

So here are my questions:  If I lose the rest of the baby weight will this ever go back to its rightful place? Will the overhang magically disappear?  Is this a result of gaining so much weight, the c-section or both? (Well, I already know the answer to that.)

I guess I’m wondering if anyone else out there has been a victim of the Golden Girls Attack of the Droopy Flesh Monster?  Will the dreadful stretch marks ever fade? Am I destined to have a flippy flap cover my flippy flaps, practically ensuring that I would need to MapQuest my AREA should BeBop ever want to locate it?

Sort of like this, only without the lights because they would get all caught in my pubes and could be a fire hazard and okay, I’ll stop.

2195506588_0719a32a34 

I don’t know WHY I’m the only person who talks about this stuff, really. I have no shame.  No shame at all.

Whine And Cheese, My Specialty!

So BlogHer 2008 was a bust.

For me, that is. Everyone else seemed to have a fabulous time.

I managed to come down with a terrible summer cold and miss almost all of the festivities.

I was planning on going for the whole day on Saturday. No kids, no husband. Weeeeeeee! I must have registered months ago, and if I wasn’t such a ‘tard I would have figured out how to put that “I’m going to BlogHer 2008” button on my sidebar like forever ago.  That’s how excited I was.

But I missed almost the whole goddamn thing. The opening session, lunch, the panel discussions, the book signings, even meeting up with the Marvelous Mel*.

I MISSED IT ALL.

With BeBop’s urging (and by ‘urging’ I mean he basically dragged my snuffly ass out of bed and MADE me go) I got up Saturday morning and after about three hours of ingesting various forms of cold medicine (helpful hint:  friends don’t let friends take seventy frillion different kinds of cold medicine) I drove myself to the nearest BART station and blew my nose for thirty straight minutes on the ride up to San Francisco.

After navigating the busy streets of the city (where did all these people come from? I asked myself. And why are they ALL going to DSW Shoe Warehouse??), I stumbled into the hotel and was soon overcome with a fever, copious amounts of perspiration that led to the dreaded BOOB SWEAT, a sneezing fit, frizzy hair and the horrifying realization that

1) everyone there looked totally cute and well-put-together; 2) everyone had totally cute haircuts; 3) I had neither of these things going for me. 

And I knew no one.  I was completely, utterly, ALONE. [cue sad music]

So I…of course…being the confident and self-assured woman that I am…went to hide in the bathroom for ten minutes and tried to pull myself together before the afternoon session about monetizing your blog. 

I’m sure the session was informative.  I am GUESSING it was informative because I was so hot and cold and sweaty and freezing and snot-producing and worried I might run out of Kleenex that I was far too distracted to really pay attention. 

I tried to write down the most interesting facts and here, direct from my astonishingly accurate and detailed note-taking, is the extent of my newfound knowledge about earning money through blogging:

* cost per click? find out what that means

* cost per aqu acqui acquition acquisition?

* what the fuck?

* must research affiliate networks (what r they?)

* what the fuckity fuck fuck?

* people say ‘do u know what i mean’ all the time.  Must be hip thing to say.  Must remem. to say more often

* moderator  = awesome hair.  How can I have cute haircut like that?  Have v. straight hair.  Like straw.  Must research perms:  do people still get them in 2008?

So, yes.  Well worth the schlepping as you can see. I did not get to meet any of the awesome women who attended, nor did I get to stalk follow around try to get a photo with hear Heather speak at the closing session.

And did I get to hand out any of the kicky new business cards I had printed up, just for this occasion?  WHY NO, but thank you for asking.  And why, might you ask, did I have business cards printed up for this occasion? 

BECAUSE THEY TOLD ME TO.

As BeBop always says, I have an unnatural (and very disturbing) sense of respect for authority figures. And the kind folks at BlogHer suggested that I bring business cards and so that’s what I did.  Forked over about $30 just to get some cards printed that I toted up to the city and right back home again. And now they are shoved into my underwear drawer in the hopes my family doesn’t stumble upon them and ask what this blogging business is all about?

And guess what else? I hurt my foot. As in, I hurt the tendony part on the bottom and limped all the way back down to the BART station, through the throngs of people pushing their way into the Shoe Warehouse and my foot hurt so badly I didn’t even go in to see if there was an awesome shoe sale underway. Now that’s real pain.  And how did I hurt my foot?  Running up two flights of stairs to get my swag bag?  Or racing to the assigned room to get a great seat?  Why, no.

I hurt my foot…sitting.  Yes, you read that correctly.  SIT. TING.  In a chair.  Honestly, what kind of a lame ass hurts her foot sitting in a chair for an hour and a half?  (Don’t answer that.)

To be frank, I thought I’d spend the day meeting fabulous women and I’d try to get them to like me and also convince them that I was as cool as they were, only with much less attractive hair, and it would be just like junior high all over again only this time with business cards.

I was also hoping I’d run into someone in the bathroom who would take a sneaky peek at my name tag and remark, “Why YOU’RE Watson? Of My Dear Watson??  I read your blog all the time!”

Now that was clearly the cold medicine talking, people.

I wanted to hear Mel’s panel and raise my hand during Q&A to — under the guise of asking a relevant question — really make a comment.  You know how people do that?  And how frigging annoying it is?  YEAH. I wanted to do THAT!

But sadly, it was not meant to be. This damn cold kicked my ass and then came back for more.

Now I’m left, bereft and alone, to blow my nose, contemplate what to do with 200 business cards, re-read my notes and try to figure out what SCO MOZ means, wait for next year and, generally, just wallow in self-pity and regret.

Do you know what I mean?

*Ah, people? Did you know that our dear, sweet and totally awesome Mel is like a comic book hero now? Did she tell you about this?  How BlogHer put together this incredibly well-written and illustrated little booklet that highlighted a few bloggers, sort of the Super Heroes (Heroines!) of the Blogosphere and each one got their own cartoon character super hero drawing to go along with her profile.  YAY MEL!!

One Grateful Momma

Parkie and Mommy
   

Wait, WHAT?

I have another kid somewhere??  WHAT THE???

The real reason for this post: who’s going to BlogHer?  Can I see a show of hands?  Let’s meet up! 

Really, I’m not nearly as odd in person.  No that’s a lie.  I’m actually much odder. 

But I’d still love to meet you. Anyone?  Hello?  [crickets]

Another Month, Another Half-Assed Letter To The Twins

Dear Babies,

HOLY. CRAP. You guys turned seven months old last weekend!  There were so many moments when I thought we’d never make it, it’s shocking to me that we’ve all made it this far.

This last month has been a time of transitions. You are eating more solid foods now and sitting in high chairs just like big boys and girls.  Parker, you can now sit up all by yourself, even though we have to stay close because after a short time the weight of your noggin gets to be too much and you slowly sway to one side, so we try to break your fall before you crash into a heap on the floor. Not that we’ve ever let that happen.  I’m just saying.

Jax you are not a fan of the whole sitting up thang.  I guess it’s easier to sit on Mommy’s lap on the floor, even though within a matter of seconds all blood flow to my lower extremities ceases and I have to endure severe numbness followed by pins and needles but that’s what Mommies do:  WE SUFFER.

On the other hand, you are a professional roller-over and should the Olympic Committee ever decide to institute a Rolling Over event you would surely qualify!  When we put you on the highly colorful rubber mat made from tiles displaying the ABC’s, now gracing our living room despite the fact that it matches NOTHING and makes the room like a traveling carnival (the TRAVELING kind!  Not even the GOOD kind!  But whatever.) you roll and roll so fast that within seconds you’re on the floor and heading straight for the drool-encrusted dog toys in the corner.  Mommy’s ‘salad days’ of sticking you on said mat and running to the kitchen for a glass of cooking sherry to start dinner are O-V-E-R.

Soon, I guess, we’ll have to face the proposition that you two will be crawling which is too terrifying for me to contemplate. I’m not at all sure my 10 mgs. of Lexapro will be sufficient.

Can we talk for a moment about sleeping?  You know, that THING YOU SHOULD BE DOING FROM APPROXIMATELY DUSK TO DAWN?!?

Here’s the dealio:  Parkie, you continue to be, for the most part, an excellent sleeper. You can go down when your brother does, and despite his frequent fussing that sometimes escalates to out-and-out screaming, you are able to gaze at your adorable visage in the little crib mirror you have and kick your legs a few times and presto! sweet dreams…

Jackson, you are another story.  After the weeks of torture sleep training, you finally managed to sleep through the whole night.  For a total of THREE whole weeks. That’s it. THREE. I was counting on something more along the lines of FOREVER, UNTIL YOU MOVE OUT OF THE HOUSE TO ATTEND COLLEGE but this was not your plan. You determined, after these three pitifully short weeks, that you should wake up at 4:00 AM, flip onto your tummy and commence shrieking. I’m not sure if you can’t or won’t turn back over, and I have no clue what to do at this point.

Your grandmother, ever so helpful, decided that bringing over some magic little plastic disks would help.  Something about realigning the energy flow in your room or something…or something about underground water because she used a dowsing rod to determine which three corners to place these magic disks in.  I’m still not quite sure what the hell they were supposed to do, but as you can see sleep-deprived Mommy = DESPERATE.

So after determining where to place these disks (by using the dowsing rod, DUH), she placed three of them on different spots on the floor.  Which inconveniently ended up being in three very-much-traveled areas of the nursery so I was stepping on them for the next few days. I’m sure my stepping on them disrupted their super duper secret healing powers because GUESS WHAT they didn’t freaking work. I know. Shocker.

Jackson last night you woke up early for you, around 9:30.  You started screaming asap.  Didn’t waste any time with the screeching, nope. I tried to comfort you and rub your head and talk softly to you, asking why on earth you were so upset?  Mommy and Daddy and Parker are right here and so is Bosco, and everything’s alright and blah blah blah…

And too bad you can’t talk because you surely would have said, in response to my sweet and reassuring words murmured softly in your ear. “I just dropped a load in my diaper you clueless heifer so for CRISSAKES WOMAN PICK ME UP AND WIPE MY ASS!!”

Yes, it did take me a few minutes to detect the not-so-fresh scent wafting from your nether regions and figure out that, perhaps, that was the cause of your wailing. Ah, the joys of motherhood.

In general, you two are great babies.  I’m slowly emerging from my PPD-induced semi-coma and getting brave enough to take you places, where you attract a lot of attention. It’s like no one’s ever seen boy/girl twins before!  Like your Daddy likes to say, sometimes people react as if they’ve just seen a unicorn with a rainbow-colored horn.  “TWINS!  A BOY and A GIRL?!?  OHMY.  Are they identical??” We get that a lot.  But you’re very good-natured, most of the time, about all the attention you get from total strangers.

And really and truly, you are the joys of my life. Dirty diapers, sleepless night and all.

Love,

Mommy

Jax playmat 

Do dee doh…just practicing the sitting which I CAN do Mommy…not focusing on my sister crying in the background.  Nope.  Can’t hear a thing.  What sister?

Parkie playmat 

Is this shot inappropriate?  I think hot pants is a BIT MUCH, MOTHER.

J and P playmat
We’ve mastered tummy time, so all you haters can SUCK IT.