Clear Nail Polish, Lidocaine Jelly, and Cabbage Leaves

Disclaimer: If you are a dude and a friend of mine, you might not wanna read this one. If you are a dude and have never experienced post partum with your wife, you might not wanna read this. Or, basically, if you're a dude, you might not wanna read this one.

CLear Nail Polish
Thanks to a wonderfully mild winter, the South is experiencing an infestation of bugs. All kinds of bugs. And for the first time I can remember, I have met and hated my first chigger. If you don't know what a chigger is, I hope you never do. Basically, it's itchy, red, hell. And they get in the most horrible of places. I have been painting myself with clear nail polish for the last 5 days, coating those stupid little critters to the point of absolute diamond strength (or that's what the bottle of Sally Hansen says, at least). I have no idea if it actually KILLS the little demons, but it does stop the itching better than hydrocortisone. I had 5 areas of infestation. Two surrounding my swollen, ever so incredibly snail-like slowly shrinking belly, one on the middle of my right thigh, one on my right knee, and one on my left ankle. These wouldn't be such an issue if BENDiNG wasn't such an issue. If looking at the side of my 6 month-pregnant looking belly wasn't so... miserable. Every time I get dressed, I'm reminded that there's no good way to NOT look like you just had a baby. I'm not one of those "in my pre-pregnancy jeans in a week or two" moms. O how I wish. Especially now. Especially now. Because now, as I paint those stupid chiggers to their death, my heart breaks a little. Because there is no crib. There is no baby. Only a swollen, red, itchy belly remains.

Lidocaine Jelly
In the process of meeting Everett, I ripped ('down there', for the novices of delivery). Uniquely, I was told. Well, it's not the first time I've heard that. I did with Aiden, too. The difference with Aiden is that he was rushed to the NICU, I was placed into proper sewing position and administered lidocaine shots since I didn't have an epidural. And it was pretty miserable for the first few days, but it got better. With Everett, I had an epidural and the midwife and nurses weren't going to interrupt my time with him by making me focus on anything else. So I was sewn up in baby holding position, not sewing position. And I remember them saying I bled a good bit, too. Like a lot. So I'm sure it wasn't easy. And I'm thankful they didn't interrupt us. But I must say, sitting, walking, and generally existing became unbearable yesterday. I went to see what was going on, because I seriously got to the point that I couldn't sit without feeling like that already- tender area was going to RIP apart.

And I didn't even think. I didn't even remember. All those beautiful little newborn pictures that they post in the OB offices. I thought I was doing ok. We had looked at pictures, downloading them from our phones and uploading some to get printed ALL morning. Keith and I had chatted briefly about some of the happy moments, remembering "Bebe" and him looking at us. And I laid there on that table, naked and vulnerable. Crying. Alone. With those beautiful, healthy babies. And the doctor came in. And I cried. And I laid there, almost in shock, as I heard my own voice telling the story I've only written. And somehow, it all became real. Like it wasn't ACTUALLY my life before. It was just this incredibly realistic, tragically wonderful yet horrible daydream. But when I had to SAY it. When MY voice had to say MY son no longer had a heartbeat. A bigger part of me died. And after she pulled out a few stiches while I was not yet numb, I realized that it would take more than Lidocaine to deaden this pain.

Cabbage Leaves
For these last 5 days I was hopeful that I had escaped milk production. An added little gift for the healing process. But last night, I realized I had not escaped. I'm not a leaker, never have been. I didn't really feel them engorge. But when I started to get in the tub, I realized "this is what fake boobs look like". Husbands have a love/hate relationship with this phase of post partum. And as I told Keith, for me, they're just a heavy reminder. As I expressed a little in the tub to relieve the pressure, I was sad. Realizing what my voice had earlier confirmed. My baby was dead. This story I've been writing. It's real. I have the belly, the stiches, and the boobs to prove it.

And so today, I stink of nail polish, lidocaine jelly, and cabbage leaves. Trying to remove the physical reminders of emotional pain that will not soon disappear.