My friend Christelle C’d yesterday morning – resulting in the beautiful Megan and heaps of information for me.
Now, the main thrust behind the creation or continuation of this blog has been my utter disgust in the lack of honesty and transparency women seem to share with one another when it comes to pregnancy and the gross bits that come along with it.
Christelle has no issue sharing. I have learned more from her over the past 12 hours than I did when I asked my OBGYN what we were facing last week. To him, giving us a very high level view as to what I’m to expect was enough whereas my old work friend has shared everything from the fact that you can expect the indignity of having suppositories inserted by strangers, that the spinal block actually is quite uncomfortable and the effects sometimes do not last as long as the surgery, which will result in the need for more morphine, incredibly bloody gigantic cottony cloud pads will be changed for you until the funsies catheter is removed (approximately twelve hours after surgery), that you actually feel most of the movements down there as they work the relatively smallish cut into a shape that’ll let your baby out easily, and that they actually can lean towards squeezing your baby through the incision in the same way one might squeeze out the hardened contents of a gargantuan boil.
I thank the gods for people like Christelle and actually want her to write an entry for this blog very soon.
In other news, I have five days left. I spend most every hour making sure the kid’s still moving and that I’m not leaking or bleeding or contracting (Braxton Hicks’ continue in earnest). I have also been stocking the fridge, cleaning my home, sewing (SEWING????) and doing washing at any given opportunity, including all the curtains in the house, which were cleaned yesterday for probably the first time since they were hung many moons before we arrived. The kid’s clothes and bedding are at the dry cleaners and, once they’re back, my hospital bags will be complete. All of this on crumbling hips. Good times.
My mother has advised that I begin “preparing my nipples for breastfeeding” (even I won’t go into detail here, unless there’s someone out there who wants to know the advice of a crazy lady) and I’ve decided it might just not be for me, this walking udder career move I’ve been promising to pursue.
We find out for certain in a few days time when I’ll be called upon to either shit or get off the pot. Again, good times.
I’m not sure but I think my next blog will be post birth. Post universe implosion. Post arrival of the small thing that’s going to make a gargantuan impact. I am nervous. There’s nothing else to say about it.