You know…that tear wasn’t half bad, in retrospect.

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Posted 01 Nov 2009 in Abigail, baby business, motherhood, please and thank you

I know, I know, I have yet to divulge the dirty deets of my labor. I’ve started writing it a few times, and then get distracted. I’m going to try to do it tonight. The more I wait, the more I forget and blur what really happened. And it’s important you know EVERYTHING that happened, internets. It will explain why I (sort of) politely requested John the Midwife and his trusty student Midwife Julie to go ahead and sew up my vag completely while they were mending my tear, because I simply was never going to utilize that area of my body EVER AGAIN.

And speaking of pain, I’m in it. No, not your typical post delivery pains of the groinal region (those are getting better)…but that of engorged ta-tas. They hurt. A LOT.

I suppose at this point I should pause and reiterate that yes, I decided to formula feed. It was the greatest decision I’ve ever made, next to deciding to start a family. The hubs has been able to be as involved as me in this whole process, which was super important since I was pretty much living on Mars for the first 18 hours after I had Abby – thanks to the drugs I was on. He changed her first diaper, gave her her first bottle. After the pregnancy I had and the not so great labor, I couldn’t IMAGINE trying to deal with breastfeeding right now. I’ve diverted from the topic at hand – my gigantic, hard boobs.

My milk came in yesterday. I naively thought I was in the clear, seeing as how it was Saturday and nothing had happened yet. Boy, was I wrong. This is only supposed to last a couple days, I think…but MY GOD. Ta-tas this huge and I can’t even show them off. (They are firmly strapped down via sports bra that I didn’t even remove to shower.)

So, yeah, in any case…I am still alive. Sleeping not much, but getting so much help (and love) from the hubs, my mother-in-law, my mother (who, even though can’t be here this first week like we’d hoped – has been nothing but awesome as my “24 hour help line/psychiatric assistant”) as well as our dads and countless friends and family. I’ll get hormonal/drunken frat boy and say I LOVE YOU ALL. No, seriously dude. I LOVE YOU.

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