What?

This not the bikini view you hoped for?

Me neither.

But unfortunately, this is what I have now.

I was so relieved when I avoided surgery while giving birth two months ago.

Apparently, my sighs were a tad premature.

Friday night I was rushed from the E.R. to the operating room to have my appendix removed.

Awesome right?

Now I look like I was sprayed in a drive by shooting.

There is a third bandage, but I’ve decided that way too many people have been looking at my lady parts as of late.

I am still trying to look past the fact that this all happened at a teaching hospital, with many, many students.

And I did not shave that day.

And my panties had a hole.

And I was in the E.R. for so long without a pump that my boobs leaked everywhere.

I’d laugh at myself, but it freaking hurts.

Yup, I’ve resolved that I will be so far from looking hot for a very, very long time.

Good thing I have Percocet to get me through it all.

Narcotics and stool softeners.

It’s all good.

—

Moms do a lot so be sure to send flowers for Mothers Day this year.

The heels.  The lipstick.  The lacy lingerie.

It’s awesome. Never mind the fact that I can’t remember the last time I actually utilized any of the above.

Also, I’ve never been a dude.  So, perhaps I’m a little biased.

Anyhow, from my experience, possessing a bit of feminine wile certainly has its perks.

When huge, ugly spiders come into the house, Dadisodes gently escorts them back into the outside world using some household vessel (i.e. cup or tissue).

I’m too delicate to witness murder of any sort.

In sixth grade, during a sweltering, humid Florida afternoon, my P.E. teacher blew his whistle to signal everyone onto the field for a 1-mile run.  I skulked off to the side, hunched over, and whimpered something about ‘cramps’ and ‘first time’.

It’s amazing how much cooler it is sitting under a tree.

However, like anything with great power, comes great responsibility.  Which usually translates to something not so pleasant.

You know, like childbirth.

Having to prove that you can open jars on your own.

Allowing complete strangers to stare and poke at your va-jay-jay every year.

Or worse…

Mammograms.

Leave it to Murphy to give me lumpy breasts the only times in my life I actually have boobs.

While breastfeeding Babisodes four years ago, I found a lump in my right breast.  Many, many people I didn’t know felt, scanned and looked at my boobs.

Turns out, they found nothing.  Once I stopped breastfeeding, it went away.

This time around with Bittysodes, my doctor found two new lumps just last week.

She didn’t want to mess around so she felt, scanned, and ordered a mammogram to cover all the bases.

I will never look at a Panini sandwich press the same ever again.

Before going in for the procedure I had an idea of what was in store, so I tried my best to empty as much milk from my breasts as possible.

But those machines?

Holy cow udders Batman.

It’s too bad there were no metal buckets in the room.

Or booze…or stress balls.

I do not look forward to doing that again for a long, long time.

At least I hope.

I’m just incredibly thankful that it all worked out, again.

I rarely reach over and actually pull one off of the shelf, and I have never opened one to read.

However, I have to say, the horrible photographs and smut do grab my attention for a second.

Especially if there is some kind of horrific photo of a celeb caught off guard, wearing a bikini, with cottage cheese and bat wings all hanging out and flappin’ in the wind.

And if there’s a celebrity mom who recently gave birth on the cover, I silently pray the person in line before me has coupons and needs a price check so I can do a double take.

I mean I need some reassurance that I’m not the only one with a lumpy ass, some extra skin…

…or an extra 10 pounds they can’t seem to shake.

I know I don’t have personal trainers, a plastic surgeon, or even the energy to think about working out. But this time around, I cannot help but feel just plain old.

By this time after my first pregnancy, I was already back into my size 4 jeans.

This time? Not so much. Even though I gained significantly less weight.

My body feels more tired and my joints more achy than they did last time.

You know you’re getting old when everyone at the “New mom support group” is younger than you.

You know you’re getting old when your daughter points out the ‘freckles’ on your hands, but you realize they’re really just age spots.

You know you’re getting old when the only cast member from GLEE older than you is Sue Sylvester.

I totally need my own Madonna video remake.

(7 weeks postpartum)

Mothers hold their children’s hands for a short while, but their hearts forever.

~Author Unknown

Like a high school girl dating a new guy, I was weak.

On March 21st, my world suddenly shifted off of it’s axis and began revolving around my new baby girl.  Flowers were suddenly in bloom.  Birds sat perched outside my window, serenading a beautiful tune. And my heart yearned to spend every waking (and half-waking) moment with my baby.  Holding her.  Loving her.

Once she came into my life, everything became a pink and lavender haze.  Her feedings, breast pumps, Babisodes’ adjustment, laundry, meals, preschool- all of these were suddenly thrown in my direction to juggle daily.  As a result, my relationships with friends and family were unintentionally tossed aside.

Subconsciously, I put blinders on, allowing me to focus.

Forward.  Ahead.

It is the only direction I’ve seen in the last month. Particularly since everything appears to move in fast-forward.  Hours turn into seconds. What’s for lunch? Do we have clean laundry for tomorrow?

Despite how idle it has been on this blog, behind the scenes, I have been fully engaged in motherhood.  But not a day goes by where I don’t wish I had the time to document all of the ordinary things going on right now that I know will make me smile in a few years.  I reminisce about the time when I could capture my life through words on this blog. When this blog, and all of you, were my shoulders to cry on, my buddies to laugh with, confidants to seek advice from.

But I’ve been distracted.

Every morning, the baby’s tiny tucked body fills my arms more, widening my embrace.  In her new role as ‘big sister’, Babisodes has begun to demand more autonomy each day, even though it is unwarranted.

In a blink of an eye, over a month has slipped away.  And as I take a moment to pause, I realize I have reached that transitional point in any relationship when the honeymoon phase has passed.   The point where I am so sleep deprived, I could pack a much needed vacation’s worth of luggage into the bags beneath my eyes; when the baby’s sweet smell is really just sour milk and vomit; when those damn birds outside need to shut the hell up because it’s 4 o’clock in the morning.

When reality sets in and the world of pink and lavender suddenly transforms to an uneasy shade of ‘holy crap-I-actually-have-two-kids’.

The point where I wish I had an old friend to chat with, or a place to retreat, so I could just complete a thought.

A friend like you.  A place just like this.

My closest friends in life are the ones who have been able to pick up right where we left off, no matter how much time passes between phone calls, emails or visits.  They are the ones who have stood the test of time.

I would love to consider you one of them.

Because I have so much I want to tell you.

Check out Beth Miga’s photography blog post for more delicious photos of Babisodes 2.0… or Bittysodes…or Youngersodes.   I cannot thank her enough for her amazing photography skills.   If you are anywhere near the Boston area, you should definitely consider her to photograph you and/or your wee ones.  She is awesome.

Can you tell I still have yet to settle on a name for the baby?  HALP!