Well THAT Was Embarrassing

I just shit myself in public.

And by “just” I mean my hair is still wet from the shower, and I pressed start on the laundry about 2 seconds before typing the words, “I just shit myself in public". By “just” I mean that it is now 1:36, and it was at 1:07 that I texted my husband crying from a Walgreens bathroom after looking the mother fucker bagging my ibuprofen dead in the eye and asking, “do ya’ll have a bathroom here?” as casually as I could muster, so as not to raise suspicion about the nature of my query. By “just” I mean that a mere 29 minutes have passed since I stripping down naked in said bathroom and did what I could to make the best of a literally shitty situation whilst also flying under the radar because the only thing worse than shitting yourself in public is the knowledge that every stranger in the store also knows you just shit yourself in public.

Ya’ll are family, that’s different.

Oh and, this post is about to get SO much worse so the faint of heart or the easily offended better back the fuck out right now. But for those of you who have also given birth, vaginally or by c-section, I hope you find a sense of solidarity in this post because I am STILL crying tears of humiliation and the only thing I can think to do is be transparent about this because I refuse to allow the things that birthing bodies go through to be relegated to the realm of the humiliating, the unsightly or the uncouth. What birthing bodies go through, what the mother of every single pair of eyes reading these words right now went through, should not be labeled unsuitable for conversation just because it’s uncomfortable.

The "bottom"line (as always, pun fucking intended) is this; On October 19th at 12:35am doctors made a horizontal incision in my abdominal wall just above the pubic hairline. A second incision was made across the lower part of my uterus and my daughter was extracted from my body. There was too much blood, and 4 hours of exploratory surgery followed her extraction before I was put under anesthesia because the epidural had worn off and I could feel them rummaging around in my guts. It wasn't until after an additional 30 minutes of surgery that the incisions were closed back up and I was sent to the recovery room.

It was 12 hours before I took my first steps, clutching the arms of the nurse who helped me get out of bed as if my very life depended on it.

It was 2 days before I could reach behind myself to wipe my own ass.

It was 3 weeks before I could cough, laugh or sneeze without feeling like my incisions were going to rip open.

At 3 1/2 I'm still wearing pads to catch the post partum bleeding, and at 3 1/2 weeks, I still can't take a proper shit. Because the thing about having all those choppy chops to the belly is when you can't even use your abdominal muscles to get out of bed ( I still have to roll over to my side and push up with my arms), using them for your morning constitutional is also out of the question. I have been on stool softeners since I woke up in the recovery room that sometimes work, sometimes not. Which is why, after a couple of days of painfully unproductive attempts to empty my bowels, I doubled up at my doctor moms suggestion.

(I told you this was going to get worse )

All of this is what transpired in the lead up to a suspicious fart in the Walgreens checkout line that turned into a level 5 emergency while making eye contact with said employee as he asked me, "cash or credit". What culminated in me bawling my eyes out in front of our nephew and asking my husband to just take me and the baby home instead of partaking in the Saturday afternoon adventure that the two of them are currently having.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that part. I did all of this in front of a 14 year old boy.

Thankfully he's a very compassionate and kind young man but still, it's a fucking bummer any way you slice it. And the fact remains that when you find yourself postpartum, however the fuck you got there, these tiny humiliations happen all the time.

Your nipples getting stuck to your shirt or your breast pads because your boobs are leaking fluid like a busted radiator.

Getting ready for a night or day out, only to realize you have puke down your back that you didn't realize was there because you fed and burped the baby right before you left the house.

And let's not forget the many, many times, a little pee has leaked out while doing anything at all.

A birthing body is irrevocably, unequivocally changed after birth. Yes, some things go back to the way they were but many, many more things do not. And so many of these things we just don't talk about in "polite" company.

Fuck that. You know what else isn't polite? Dilating from 0 to 10, or having someone hold a little puke pan by your face during surgery because you can't stop throwing up but you are also completely immobilized.

I'm constantly asked how I'm doing and most of the time I say "I'm fine". And most of the time, it's mostly true. But the facts are this; I still can't wear anything but pajama pants comfortably because even my maternity pants have seams in them that rub against my incision site. There are still at least 3 times a day where a certain motion or movement makes me suck my breath in hard because of the discomfort. My hips and back are constantly tight and sore because I cannot sleep in any position but supine due to the fact that side lying or prone causes pain in the internal incisions, the deep ones that will take another several weeks to heal. I grieve daily that I cannot pick up my 2 year old, and so does she. And I'm experiencing all of this on limited and fragmented sleep because I'm nursing a 3 week old.

Now, before the glass half full police show up with their, "look at the bright side" bullshit, know that there is a TON that I am also, simultaneously, grateful for. It's not an either/or, but rather a both/and. I am both in love with Jubilee and struggling with my healing process. I am both grateful for the gift of two little girls, and exhausted by what it takes to care for them both equally. I am both "fine" and "not fine" at the same time, and I venture to say, many of us are in the same boat.

When I don't answer a call or respond to a text or take a break from social media, this is why. Because I don't know how to be both things in front of people so I withdraw and be both things in private. Let's normalize the both/and, shall we? Let's normalize birthing bodies that are powerful and special but also fragile and healing. And while we're at it, can we normalize that for every body?

Love ya'll.