A few days later we were sitting in a lactation consultants office with a woman who gave off the vibe that she would be a very good fortune teller gypsy. It didn’t help that she smelled so strongly of garlic that I’m fairly certain she must have bathed in it. We were there for Seb to have his tongue tie looked at, and while we were talking I mentioned in casual desperation that I was a little bit engorged.
OR scrubs take the scrub game to a whole new level. See, when you first graduate nursing school, you buy all of those Facebook ad scrubs. The form fitting ones with elastic and zippers and pockets just in case you need to store something no bigger than a quarter behind your left calf.
That’s how I feel about parenting. Which, I’m not technically even doing yet. I feel like “parenting” refers to teaching and playing and educating and disciplining. I’m no where near that. I’m infanting. Which is basically just trying to make sure Sebastian is fed and relatively happy, which he is because he has the personality of a golden retriever puppy. Playful, adorable, and pees when he gets excited.
7. He is in charge of decorating the house that I pay for with a shocking motif of spit up, pee, and Sophie the Giraffe.
Over the next day or so, in between the distracting pain of my boobs swelling to the size of small boulders and the pain my son’s head caused when he bulldozed into this world, I was aware of the frightening sensation of gargling cement in my intestines. One week out and there was no denying there was a very serious problem.
I’m not very good with following directional directions, so when my sling arrived my very direction-ally inclined husband had to help me thread it. I should have seen the warning signs- there is literally like, one step to threading it.
Before actually giving birth myself I was utterly mystified as to why woman who had given birth before were so obsessed with their own, and other women’s stories. But now having gone through it myself, wow. It was like war, man.
I love how we say “stay at home mom” as if that’s what mom’s who don’t work get to do- “stay at home”. There is no staying at home, people! There are all of the things that we have to go out and do because we are the ones “staying at home”! The “running to the store for that one thing” mom or the “I can do to that meeting with the realtor in the middle of the day right during nap time, sure” mom would be more accurate.
Reasons You Should Not Read This Blog
1. If you are a person who has limited amounts of time to spend reading blogs or other such internet platforms.
2. If you hate Harry Potter and are therefore a tasteless and sad human.