Oh looky what I made. Yes, after months of not posting, I have returned and hopefully with a vengeance. But more than likely with tales of baby poop and my slow descent into insanity. My life of the past five months since that joyful announcement of BRAS ARE HERE can be summed in ten parts.

Part I. Dr. Mucci Scares the Bejesus Out of Me. Mid-September at a routine ultrasound at almost 27 weeks it was discovered that my cervix was funneling and that I was possibly contracting. A trip to the hospital confirmed that although I was feeling nothing, my uterus was indeed contracting. So after 2 days in the hospital and visits from doctors about such wonderful things as brain bleeding with the premature birth, I was sent home and ordered to bed rest for 10 weeks. Needless to say I did not post because regaling you with tales of my bed ridden life which consisted of (1) ER repeats, (2) trips to the bathroom, (3) 5 minute showers and (4) absolute terror and worry did not seem appropriate to the blog. However, I do think a post would have been the following “I think that my new friends of pillow one and pillow two are mad at me, I think perhaps my greasy non-showered head is offending them. Selfish bastards.”

Part II. 36 Weeks, Where the F*uck is this Kid? After making it through my 10 weeks of joy, my jellified body was able to move again, however, slow. So at this point one would gather that with movement at any moment my “dynamic cervix” (the technical term) would open up and the process would begin. However, this was not the case. After each day nothing happened, except my growing addiction to ice cream. I truly believe that I am solely responsible for quarterly sales of Ben and Jerry’s and Dryers to have skyrocketed.

Part III. Overdue and Pretty Pissed Off. Again, here is where my demonic guardian angel Sully entertains his bar buddies. After 10 weeks of bed rest and 4 weeks of Price Is Right “Come on Down” expectation, nothing happened. My due date came and went and I was left searching the Internet about how to get labor started. I tried all the old wives tales to no avail and began to suspect that having a dynamic cervix was code for “lets drive the pregnant lady crazy.”

Part IV. Relief in the Form of Low Fluid. Oh, I forget to mention, also at the appointment of premature horrors, it was discovered that my umbilical chord had two vessels instead of the normal three which occurs in 1 out of every 1,000 pregnancies. Again, who has the best luck ever? In response to this, it was ordered that each week I have a non-stress test which basically is a measure of the baby’s heart rate and amniotic fluid. On the December 18, 2006 appointment, it was discovered that my fluid was indeed low and I would be sent to the hospital to be induced. Yeah, induction! Even though I was 2 cm dilated and almost completely effaced, my dynamic cervix was still holding on and induction was necessary. By the way, I hate my cervix.

Part V. Never Get An Epidural From a Doctor Who Just Awoke From A Deep Slumber (a/k/a DUH!). Prior to actually having the baby, I had considered the possibility of a natural childbirth. I was going to see how it was, and make my decision. At 1:00 a.m. with contractions one minute apart, I made my decision – EPIDURAL. So Dr. McSleepy arrives and accidentally drives the needle into my spinal fluid. The result of which he said was a possible headache that would require re-entry and a blood block. Yeah, big deal I think. Just stop this agonizing pain. By the way, do you know that I have an abnormally long back? Yep, not one but two anesthesiologists commented upon its freakish length. And yes, I am thinking of painting myself a nice mahogany, learning yoga, and doubling as a coffee table during parties.

Part VI. My Dynamic Cervix, Abnormally Long Back and I Give Birth. Not much to tell here, I push and push and push. Baby arrives. I see Owen for all of 2.5 seconds because he is whisked away due to the fact he has pooped on himself. He is fine, but I am not. Seems my placenta has detached from the chord. When you OB/GYN says to the nurse – “Ah, she has an epidural right? Yeah, can you push that button a few times.” it is never good. So as Dr. Fingers is rooting around my uterus for my placenta like keys in a purse, I am planning my own funeral. John and his mother are with the baby I have only glimpsed, while I have a hand and forearm up my love canal. Finally a discovery of placental gold is made, and I do not expire although it looks like a murder scene. I again ponder what I have done to be so cursed.

Part VII. Owen and Back to Work, Bitch. Finally I am given Owen and I look at him anticipating that instant love that moms all over exclaim about. I gaze and wait. Then the nurse tells me to feed him. So, after 10 weeks of bed rest, 4 weeks of waiting, 1 week of absolute frustration, 6 hours of labor and 1 and a half hour of pushing (he was back labor) I am given the new task of breastfeeding him. No rest for the weary it seems. Also it seems it is amazing to me that any mother can instantly love a creature that has parasitically lived in them for 9 months, requires exit from an orifice that is quite small and then immediately needs nourishment in the form of latching on to your once prized boobs. Or maybe I was just resentful since a moment before I had the arm of a woman flossing my teeth internally for 20 minutes.

Part VIII. Leaking Spinal Fluid Causes Your Brain to Drop. At the time I felt that having a headache due to the mistake of Dr. McSleepy was no big deal. How bad could a headache be? However, flash two days later when up at 7:00 a.m. feeding Owen, my head is pounding. It aches and aches, throbs and throbs, I am crying. And guess what? Outside are jackhammers. Yep, jackhammers. Construction. It is at this point I decide to get the blood block, actually it was the time I decided to end it all by jumping off a roof, but I decided to try the 60% success rate torture session. So in comes Dr. McSavior. She is very nice and awake! She comments on my long board back, and after five attempts due to my poor veins, blood is drawn and injected into my back. I am an absolute mess at this point. Crying due to hormones and pain and the fact that it seems my back is a science experiment gone wrong. However, the block works and my head no longer pounds, and I actually feel really great. I attempt to skip, but fall down.

Part IX. The Baby. Owen is an absolute treasure, completely healthy, quite handsome, and very good and John and I are extremely lucky. Not much to tell here except that I am so unbelievably happy and only once wanted to throw him out the window when he did not shut up.

Part X. The Biggest Mistake. Two weeks ago I decided to free myself from the elastic waist prison that is maternity wear. I figured that I would have to go a size or so up, but whatever; I would be able zip my pants and button a button. I would be somewhat normal. However, as I put on my first pair of pants, I realized that having a 7 pound, 7 oz baby does free you of weight as does breastfeeding, but ice cream binges, being immobile for 70 days and having a post-partum chest size of 38G is another story. So, I left the store with the only thing that fit, a pair of shoes. And no delusions of the state of my body. But fear not, this Tuesday marks 6 weeks since the birth and my return to the gym. An epic story in the making, of which I will be sure to keep you posted. Promise.