Mom to Bee

Have I told you lately that I’m pretty convinced Bug is going to be an Olympic athlete?

First, upon popping out of my womb, Bug was already lifting his head up with his super-hero-strength neck muscles.

Two weeks later, he rolled over from his tummy to his back.

Initially we thought that it was a fluke. Obviously a two-week-old infant doesn’t know how to roll over.

But then he did it again.

And again.

And then this morning? At a whopping seven weeks old, he rolled over from his back to his tummy!

What the fuck, yo?!

Need I remind everyone that Bee didn’t WALK until she was 19 months! She didn’t even put weight on her legs for at least six months (or longer).

Seriously. We put her in those Jumperoo play things and the girl would just hang.

And now we’ve got an infant athlete on our hands! Next thing you know, Bug’s going to be training with some scary Olympic coach who will scream orders at him in Russian or something.

Obviously, we’re hoping for figure skating.

Song title: Roll On by Kid Rock

While I attempt to remember and document my first night of boozahol-fueled debauchery in, oh, probably like a year and a half, please enjoy this hormone-spiking photo taken this weekend by Mr. Bee.

I can’t stop staring at this photo, even when the subjects are right in front of me. Kids are so much cuter on film than in person.

Song title: Killed by Cuteness by Almada

So, where were we?

First, my vagina leaked a bunch of fluid.

Then, I discovered the most efficient way to crush one’s spirit includes an anesthesiologist.

THEN, we were introduced to The Claw.

Let me tell you, I was very disappointed with the Google Image results from “palsy hand.” So I’ve decided to break out my award winning illustration skills yet again to properly describe The Claw…

I hope that helped.

At some point while I was mesmerized by The Claw (because who wouldn’t be, really?), the doctor had sliced me open and was doing God knows what to me. For some reason, I got huge entertainment out of trying to convince Mr. Bee to peek over the curtain and check it out for me.

I mean, how often do you get the chance to see your wife’s belly cut open?

Okay, well, it made way more sense to me at the time. I’ll blame it all the drugs that were coursing down my spine. Yeah, that’s the ticket.

After the doctor was done playing Operation with my torso, it was time for Bug to be “born.” The anesthesiologist described it perfectly: he said, “Okay, in a minute you will feel pressure like someone is sitting on your chest.”

He was totally right.

If by “someone” he meant a Biggest Loser contestant on Day One. Or Oprah.

’Cause that shit was intense! I’m sure it was only three seconds (if that) but it left a lasting impression.

And that was it. Bug was born!

The doctor held him up over the curtain so I could see him and the very first thing I thought was “Holy shit! That’s BEE!!” I swear that they are practically identical at birth! Check it out for yourselves…

After they cleaned off all the chucks of uterine goodness, they handed Bug over to Mr. Bee to snuggle with. Mr. Bee brought him immediately over to me and as I stared in to that perfect little face…

I yacked all over the place.

And I continued to blow chunks for hours.

It fucking sucked. I had managed to get through the entire labor and delivery keeping my lunch down (unlike Bee’s birth which featured my stomach contents flowing freely from me for hours and hours as I labored), only to be as sick as a dog for hours afterward.

The whole next day I had a bottle and a half of water. That’s it.

And it still made me dry heave.

Eventually I could eat again and got around to strutting my stuff in my gorgeous hospital-provided mesh underwear.

Side note #1: Despite the fact that Victoria’s Secret will likely never carry underwear as horrendously unattractive as maternity mesh undies (for the un-initiated, picture soft mesh boy shorts that go up as high as your boobs and leave nothing to the imagination. However, you are wearing a maxi pad that – no joke – goes from under your belly button to the small of your back. So there’s not much to see there.), I was actually looking forward to them. Mostly because they are ridiculously comfortable after squishing a baby out of your vag. I even scavenged my room for extra to take home.

Side note #2: I don’t think I would’ve been so excited for the mesh underwear if I had known that upon arriving home, I would have a reaction to the undies resulting in a horrendous red rash covering my entire ass and even up the small of my back. It was horrible. I seriously looked like one of those women who have been attacked by the acid thrown in their face. But, you know, on my ass.

What? Too soon?

So now I have my gorgeous little Bug who, despite ruining my body to the point of my stomach resembling Freddie Kruger’s face, takes after his big sister and pretty much only cries if he’s shat himself or needs to eat.

Also, he sleeps like 6 hours straight through the night already.

Sorry if it sounds like I’m bragging. I have to concentrate on the positives since Mr. Bee and I have decided that if I had lived a century ago, I probably would’ve died in childbirth.

Both times.

Needless to say, this precious little squirt is the last thing to inhabit my womb.

Ever.

Please disregard my dirty hair, no makeup, and general hot mess-ness.

The End.

Song title: The Birth of… by Imperia

So after pushing for two ungodly hours…

Side note: Thanks so much, Doc, for letting me push that long even though I kept telling you that I didn’t think things were progressing (and I imagine that you could definitely tell that things weren’t progressing, but didn’t respond to my comments). Oh yeah, and super thanks for following up my frustrated pleas that I just wanted the asshole baby out of me with: “Well, it’s all up to you.”

Really, lady? I think everyone in the room, included a pee- and poo-covered YOU, can attest to the fact that I literally was pushing my guts out. How I managed to not utter a big “Fuck you, you stupid mother fucker” at that moment is beyond me. Who knew I could maintain somewhat of a filter in such a time of stress?

So the doctor had just told me that we could try yanking Bug out of my vagina, but if that didn’t work, we’d have to do a C-section.

Awesome.

After a very light tug, the doctor decided that there was no way that the baby was going to come out my babyhole as intended.

People have asked me if this is when I totally freaked out. Surprisingly, no. Like I said before, I just wanted the dude out of my goddamn uterus. I’m pretty sure that if the doctor had suggested letting a pack of vampires gnaw the baby out of me, I would’ve ushered those sparkly douche bags in to the birthing suite with a smile.

I gave a quick goodbye to my family (who I guess were freaking out way more than I was) and was wheeled to the operating room. Mr. Bee was taken aside to get dressed in some ridiculous Hazmat suit. I’m guessing it was just a precaution in case Bug turned out to be radioactive?

I also got to wear a hawt shower cap, which was pretty considerate figuring that I had taken the time to flat iron my hair before we left for the hospital. Who knows what kinds of junk would be flying around when they cut in to me?

As Mr. Bee donned his hard hat and eye protection, I was wheeled in to the OR and thrown on to the table ER style. Doctors and nurses started prepping for surgery by counting all the instruments (which I kindly reminded them to please not leave in my abdomen unless it would somehow ensure me a free tummy tuck later) and the anesthesiologist settled down at my head to get me nice and numb.

See, friends, all this time, I’ve still been having contractions. I’ve just been completely without my support system to deal with them. So while I’m being laid out on the table with the big blue sheet up so I can’t see the God-awful things that they are about to do to me, I’m contorting about trying to get through contractions without hitting someone.

After 30 minutes (THIRTY MINUTES) of suffering through contractions and having to declare “Yep! STILL FEELING THEM!!!!”, the anesthesiologist finally got me numb enough for doctors to slice me open. Oh, and during that 30 minutes, I also got “prepped”. And by prepped, I mean that some poor nurse who totally doesn’t earn enough had to shave part of my…region.

This is where I sincerely apologized for the 1970′s porn-esque bush I had been maintaining (or not, as the case may be). She assured me that she had seen worse in her day and I felt obligated to explain my “I can’t see it therefore it doesn’t exist to me” pubic maintenance policy.

Honestly, I can’t believe that I’m allowed out in public most days.

At this point, I am laid out Jesus-on-the-cross style, with the big curtain up, and my right arm hooked up to a blood pressure cuff. Shockingly, I was tied down completely because, girlfriend, I was fucking seizing around from either shock or the fact that apparently the operating rooms were all occupied and they had chosen to open me up in the cafeteria’s freezer.

Seriously, I half-expected to see a piles of Drumsticks and ice cream sandwiches on the tables that surrounded me. Maybe the nurses had been counting plastic cutlery instead of operating implements? I swear to God if I end up getting sick because someone left a spork in me…it will be the most awesome thing EVER! I mean, how many people get to say that?

To recap, I’m so cold that I’m having shivers so severe that my entire body is shaking AND I’m still suffering through contractions AND THEN I notice my right hand. Remember, my right arm is hooked up to the blood pressure cuff? Well, apparently I was suffering some weird calcium deficiency that would cause my right hand to contort up every time the cuff filled with air.

That’s right, folks. Every few minutes I got Palsy Hand.

Also referred to as The Claw.

So, yeah, I was a fucking mess. And the baby wasn’t even out yet!

Since this post is ridiculously long, stay tuned for Part Four: Why I’d Rather Shoot A Baby Out My Vag Hole Than Have It Cut Out of Me. Shit, that’s a long subtitle…

Song title: The Birth of… by Imperia

After a week and a half, after at least four or five days of truly trying to find the time to sit down with the laptop, and with baby planted firmly on boob with netbook balanced precariously on my breastfeeding pillow, here, my loves, is Bug’s Birth Story.

It was a dark and stormy night…

Nah, actually it was a clear and beautiful Thursday that began as any other, full of the Play Date. I had seen all the same women the week before and was greeted kindly with “Why the hell are you here?” and “Aren’t you supposed to be giving birth or something?!”.

After explaining that apparently a week’s worth of contractions does not equal a baby shooting out from my vag, everyone decided that as much as they like me, I was forbidden to see any of my friends any time soon as I should be giving birth.

Little did they know…

Later that afternoon, while Bee was taking a nap, I was resting on the couch in between peeing every five minutes. During one trip to the bathroom, I noticed, well, discharge.

This is probably a good time to mention that this birth story is chock full of bodily fluids and gory ass (literally) details. Basically, if vaginal discharge scares you, this blog story is probably not one for you!

Anywho, I initially didn’t think much of it but each subsequent bathroom visit, as I reached the standing position: goosh. For the ladies who are curious, it kind of just felt like “that time of the month”. It wasn’t the stereotypical Niagra/Vagina Falls that you see on television. And did you know that less than 15% of women actually have their water break on it’s own? Jealous?!

So once I realized that my vag was leaking more than normal, I called Mr. Bee to share the exciting news and tell him to get his ass home post haste.

Ring.

Ring.

Mr. Bee: Is it “go time” or is this just another pointless phone call?

That’s a QUOTE, people.

Me: Well, my water just broke so I’m gonna go with “go time”…

Mr. Bee: Oh shit! Really?! I was just joking!

Ha. Ha.

After getting all the important folks on the phone and Grandma over to watch Bee, Mr. Bee and I headed to the hospital. During the drive up, I was all “omg, omg, omg, omg, omg, I’m going to be having a baby tonight! omg, omg, omg,” while the Mr. was all “Yeah, that’s kind of how this works.”

Thanks, Mr. Wizard, for that breaking science development.

Upon arriving at the Birth Center triage, we began what they refer to as the first state of labor and delivery: The Waiting.

Well, before the waiting, the nurse wanted to make sure that my water had really broken. Makes sense, right?

So she asked for my soaked pantyliner that I had put on so I wouldn’t leak all over the car.

I’ll be honest, it’s not the first time that some stranger has asked for my used feminine products, but usually they buy me a drink or two first…

As she performed her tests, the nurse asked Mr. Bee and I how long it had been since our last sexual escapade – thinking that maybe the goop in my pants wasn’t amniotic fluid but Mr. Bee’s baby batter.

((Cue hysterical laughter))

I’m not sure of my exact words, but I think I assured her that unless my vagina was a sperm bear trap that could hold on to that junk for longer than 4 months, we didn’t need to worry that I was just oozing man juice.

After her sniff test or whatever the hell she was doing with my dirty underwear, she confirmed that indeed, my sac had ruptured and I was good to go to Labor & Delivery. You know, as soon as a nurse could get away and get me a room. In the meantime they would put in an order for Pitocin to start my contractions being productive (since my water had broken, I would be much more prone to getting an infection if they didn’t nudge things along).

Little did they know, I wouldn’t need any Pitocin…

Song title: The Birth of… by Imperia

Man, I miss not having enough time, energy or sanity to write posts right now. I have birth posts, posts featuring my first mental breakdown with two kids and posts about just the random awesomeness that is my life (please detect the sarcasm here) just floating around in my head!

I love that you are all still checking back for posts and I super duper triple promise that I will be back the second that I figure out how to wrangle Bee, nurse Bug and type no-handed on my computer!!

PS: I highly recommend not sneezy while sporting a c-section incision unless you want to feel like your abdomen is ripping open. Unless you like that kind of thing.

Song title: Miss You, Love You by Maroon 5

After a week and a half of sleep deprivation, I’ve realized a few things: there is absolutely no way that I will willingly give birth to another child, I absolutely need a personal assistant/chef/pharmacist, and you, my tens of readers, probably would like a grand introduction to the newest member of the Bee Family! So without further ado and henceforth and whatnot, it is my pleasure to present to you for the first time…

Bug
(the artist formerly known as Cletus)

Born August 6th at 1:38 in the butt crack of night/morning
Weighing in at a whopping 8 pounds, 11 ounces and measuring 19 inches

He is already much loved by all, with the minor exceptions of my vagina, my c-section scar and my bloody nipples.

And I swear on the sweet baby Jesus that Bug’s birth story is in the works! Part One should be up soon! It would’ve been up sooner if Bug would just learn some independence already. He is so needy…

Song title: So May I Introduce to You by Dilated Peoples