Welcome Back, Welcome Back, Wel-come Ba-ack

No, you haven't flashed back 30 years. But I found the theme song appropriate in this case.

After 22 months, PPAF has finally made her appearance.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry. It's been nice being able to avoid the tampon aisle for as long as I have. I knew, logically, she had to come back sometime. And with Nate sleeping better at night, I knew it was imminent. But it still surprised me to look down today and see the evidence. It does reinforce that the weaning process is indeed working.

Tonight, I'll be pulling out the BBT that has been tucked away in my bedside table drawer for almost two years. We're not preventing. We're just seeing what happens.

I'm not sure if I'm ready for all this again. The charting. The timing. The waiting. The inevitable disappointment.

But when I look at Nate's sweet smile, I get a sense of hope. That, like the first go round, it will all be worth it in the end.

Molars and Monkey Wrenches

I don't know what's wrong with me lately but I'm having some serious writer's block. Nothing stupendous has happened since the big birthday bash so I'm struggling to find something interesting enough in our daily routine to share. I know if I look deep enough, I have so much to say yet the words escape me. I can't write a marginally entertaining post to save my life. But I will at least try to give an update on the minor happenings here so the cricket symphony will fade.

We've been taking advantage of the remaining summer days by swimming and playing. I think Nate has gills hidden somewhere on his body. He's such a little fish. He adores the pool, splashing in the water and kicking his feet like a frog. If we're not at the pool, we're out in the backyard playing in the water table or his new toddler playhouse we scored for $30 from a neighbor. At least for as long as the heat is tolerable. Just keeping busy so I don't get stir crazy indoors all day.

Weaning is going slowly but surely. Today, I was actually able to get Nate to drink 8 oz. of water out of his sippy. That is a small miracle since I could only get him to take several sips for the past month. We've fully eliminated night feedings and are down to 4 nursing sessions a day. Some days, we have even gotten down to 3. It's sad but liberating at the same time. I've happily been a 24-7 buffet for over a year but it does feel strangely good to get a glimpse of what it's like to have my body all back to myself. As conflicted as I am about starting this process, for once, it is starting to feel like the right decision. I'm sure I'll be more devastated as we get closer to the ultimate end. But for now, I'm okay with it.

It seems teeth #9 and #10 will be making their apperance anyday now. I can see the white tips emerging from the gum and they are thisclose to breaking through. These first-year molars are much more of a beast than the previous eight. Nate cut those like a champ. You would hardly notice he was teething at all. In comparison, these suckers are huge and judging from the size of the lumps on his gums, quite painful. He's been drooling and crying and clinging to me much more than usual, begging for me to relieve him of the agony. We've been alternating the Hyland's and Motrin daily and that has helped us to keep the ratio of smiles to tears out of the red.

As a result of the emerging teeth, his already meager diet has dwindled down even more. Today, his diet consisted of a fistful of Cheerios, a handful of Cheez-its, a single green bean, and 4 oz. of banana berry puree. It's so frustrating when I go through the trouble of making meals, including every color of the rainbow, for him to toss it aside without even taking a bite. He'll clench his lips and turn his head so I can't even spoon feed him. I try to be patient but there are days - like today - where it takes its toll on me. The world of toddler nutrition (if such a thing exists) is not so welcoming.

Mealtime has obviously been a hassle but one thing is going smoothly is sleep. Nate has been sleeping 6-8 hour stretches just about every night. Once, there was a 9-hour stretch. And boy oh boy, it feels good! It makes you realize how sleep deprived you really were. There have been a few minor setbacks with the teething but I still have to give credit where credit is due. I *might* even venture to say he is officially "sleeping through the night" these days. And it only took a year! My little guy, the late-blooming insomniac.

And if I can politely shift the focus over to moi, I'm sad to report that I've gained 5 lbs. over the past month. Yes, I'm wearing my pouty face as the scale mocks me. I'm sure it has something to do with all the leftovers from the party as well as the weaning. I've never really had to watch what I ate before but I guess my metabolism had to slow down eventually. No more late night rendezvous with Chips Ahoy or Ben & Jerry. Bummer.

Nate and I can agree on one thing. Getting older is rough.

Lost & Found

My beloved mommy necklace has gone missing. I first noticed its displacement on Mother's Day. I checked all the usual suspects - jewelry box, dresser, bedside table drawers - and it was nowhere to be found. I thought about the last time I wore it. Moving day. I recalled seeing it as we were in the throes of last minute packing and I stuck it in my pocket for safe keeping. But I can't for the life of me remember taking it out of my pocket. Or ever seeing it again for that matter.

I was immediately overwashed with guilt. How could I allow such a sentimental piece such as this to slip away from me like this? How could I show such little attention to something that was supposed to mean so much to me? I admit the discovery - or lack thereof - made me feel despondent on a day I should have been completely and utterly joyful. But I was hopeful it would turn up. Surely, we would find it in our array of unopened boxes. Somehow, someway.

Both DH and I have searched high and low, leaving no stone unturned, but to no avail. I'm trying to convince myself that it's gone. Reasoning that it fell out of my pocket in transit. Or that it is in some secret, hidden place where I am unlikely to find it for years. But that is unacceptable to me. I need something tangible. Something to wear proudly, close to my heart. A token to signify my triumph. A gentle reminder of the journey that brought me full circle.

I feel absolutely empty without it.
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As I was frantically rummaging through my closet trying to find the necklace, I uncovered a plastic tub of old clothes and accessories that I hadn't seen in years. I pulled out the articles one by one, holding them up to admire them in their entirety. They conjured up so many memories of high school and college. Those were chaotic times and in many ways, my life is simpler now. Even if there are aspects I miss sometimes - being a size 2/4 or my sole responsibility being to myself - I certainly don't want to trade places with my 19-year old self permanently. I traded the superficiality and angst for a much more enriching life. I feel much more wholesome and proud of myself now. I've lived a little bit. And while I still have a long way to go, I have more of an appreciation for life in general, and the little twists and turns you encounter along the way.

I came across a pair of low-rise pale blue corduroys courtesy of Abercrombie & Fitch. Size 0. They were cut a little big. More like a size 2. But I remember they made my ass look marvelous. Ah, the days of bare midriffs. I looked down at my tummy flab and love handles - my postpartum badges of honor. My body has written its own autobiography.

I recalled how healthy and alive I felt back then. When these pants adorned my hips. I had the energy to work out six days a week. I had the best figure I had ever had in my life. I had no problem working a full-time job during the day and attending school full-time in the evenings. Now I struggle to wake up in the morning. If I don't have a dose of caffeine, I can barely function. I have so much more to enjoy in my life right now but I have less vigor. So unfair.

I came to the bottom of the tub. The trip back in time was pleasant while it lasted.

I decided then and there to consign them. I can declutter our eaves and get some extra cash to afford a refreshing, new, mature yet stylish wardrobe. After all, I'll never be able to wear these again. That ship has long ago sailed. So what's the point in keeping them around? They're just taking up valuable space.

Although I admit it crossed my mind to keep the blue cords. For memory's sake.

Witch Hunt

It's strange to say aloud but I haven't had a period since October 30, 2007.

That's right. Two thousand SEVEN. SEVENTEEN months ago. Almost EIGHT AND A HALF months postpartum and the witch is still M.I.A.

Before I allow you to get ahead of yourselves, I am not - I repeat - NOT pregnant. To achieve pregnancy, there are several prerequisites. Primarily ovulation and intercourse. And since these key players are noticeably absent from the marquee, chances are slim that anything short of immaculate conception or post-hysterectomy amnesia would account for her hiatus. So please refrain from testing chants and sweep away any babydust that may have crept away from the magical fairyland. I can only attribute this respite to a certain little person attached to my boob every 2-3 hours.

Don't get me wrong. Absence has not made my heart grow fonder. It's been nice to have this extended vacation from her hijinks. I can wear white blazenly. No mental inventory of pads or tampons. No leaks or gushes to make me squirm. Or changing bedsheets in the morning due to embarrasing accidents. No fumbling through my medicine cabinet for Midol. There have been some stellar advantages to our much-needed break.

As much as I'd like to say good riddance forever, I am a bit codependent on my Auntie. I need her to reappear eventually if I'm ever going to give Nate a sibling. No, we're not TTC #2 right away. Right now, it's just a prospect on the horizon. We are in no rush whatsoever, although the baby bug has nipped at me now and again. I mean, our firstborn is nowhere close to STTN and I'd have to be batshit crazy to double up when I'm already struggling. I could see us now - sharing our bed with a toddler and a newborn. We'd need to trade up our Queen for a California King just to get through the night. It's exhausting just to think about it. Besides, I'd like to give Nate a bit more time as our one and only. Spoil him as much as possible before he needs to share his belongings, personal space and parental attention.

And truth be told, I also question how my cycles will behave once she returns. Will I remain oligoovulatory or could childbirth have rebooted my system? If curiosity killed the cat, I'll be one crispy kitty.

I wonder when she'll arrive. I'm sure it will be at some inopportune moment. Like when I'm wearing my favorite panties. And I'm sure as soon as she turns up, I'll be wishing her farewell again.

Aunt Flo...can't live with her. Can't live without her.

Resolutions

I rang in 2009 snuggling with my son - who was nearly comatose from overindulging warm milk - in bed, shielding him from the blaring pyrotechnics occurring just outside of our bedroom window.

Nate was born LAST year. I was pregnant with him the year BEFORE LAST. How insane is that?! What's even scarier is that THIS year, he'll turn one. Goodness! Before I know it, with the exponential speed with which time has been travelling, he'll be starting school, driving, and dating.

As with all New Years celebrations, the descent of the gigantic, luminous orb had me not only reflecting on the monumental year that was 2008, but also pondering self-improvement. I've lived and I've learned much over the past 12 months but I can't stop in my tracks. I can't relish in the comfortableness when there is so much potential beyond the present. The only constant from year to year is change. Things - life - will inevitably morph and shift, and we will struggle to adapt. I have to strive to be a better mother. A better wife. A better daughter and sister. A better friend and person.

Is it possible to transplant the best parts of 2008 into the new year? How can I better myself so that I become more valuable to those around me?

I was never much of a believer in setting resolutions. It seems that the moment you utter the r-word, it is a self-fulfilling prophecy to fail. Even an honest attempt to achieve a resolution is moot if left unresolved when the sand runs out at the end of the year. I am more inclined to set goals - both short-term and long-term. That way, I can still hold myself accountable but I will not be held under the duress of a stringent annual deadline.

Without further ado, my newfound objectives are as follows:

1. Grow spiritually

I want to strengthen my faith and attend church more frequently. Oftentimes, the daily rigamarole of life supersedes making time for the Lord. It's easy to make excuses as to why we just couldn't make it this particular Sunday (i.e. the service is during baby's naptime, it's just too far to travel in the morning, etc.). But I really want to make our spirituality a priority, as are our careers or quality time with friends and family. The pastor's word makes us feel so wholesome and rejuvenated after a challenging work week. I'd like to lengthen that feeling of integrity all week, month and year-long.

I'd also like to study Bible passages in an effort to understand the text around which we center our Christian values.

2. Revitalize intimacy

Since we became a family of three, DH and I have struggled to redefine intimacy. Not just physically but also emotionally. The overwhelming needs of an infant often dominate our lives and it is easy to overlook or outright ignore our spouses' or our own needs. We can no longer rely solely on romantic movie nights, candlelit dinners or a passionate evening to bring us closer. We need to exercise our creativity to find other fulfilling ways to show our affection.

I want to be more aware of this and not just circumvent the issue or procrastinate. I want to be more proactive, which leads me to my next goal.

3. Communicate more effectively

I have never been confrontational so I tend to sweep things under the rug in order to avoid strife. I want to be more open with my feelings so I am not forcing DH to speculate as to my needs or desires. It is unfair to set unrealistic expectations of him or others if I am not explicit.

I also want to deepen my interpersonal relationships with friends by maintaining contact. Since becoming a mom, my social life has dwindled to email or MySpace or Facebook comments. I was never really a party animal but I would like to reconnect with friends face-to-face, whether it be a family-friendly dinner with the boy in tow or a girls' night out sans baby.

May I add, in the blogworld, I'd like to comment more and discover new blogs related to IF, specifically parenting after IF. I used to be a master commenter before the p-words - pregnancy and preparation - consumed my life. Now, with my new 27 inch boss, I hardly have the time to construct an admissable post much less offer useful advice and support to my online buddies. I want to make the time to be there for those who were there for me in my darkest days and continue to follow me on my lighter path.

While I am happy to put my family first above all else, I don't want to lose the small yet priceless support system I have. I do not have many friends so it is imperative to show appreciation to the ones I do have.

4. Lose 5 to 10 more pounds

Perhaps the most generic and selfish of all my goals. It won't really benefit anyone but myself - unless you consider yourself a member of the "happy mommy, happy daddy/baby" camp. Yet I think it would improve my self-image to lose the poundage I gained during my dreaded Clomid days.

As of Christmastime, I have officially reached my prepregnancy weight. Since I was able to do so through breastfeeding alone, I consider that a huge accomplishment. But these pesky 5 to 10 more lbs. will probably be more problematic. I will need to eat healthier - perhaps join Weight Watchers or a similar diet program that is safe for nursing mothers - and exercise (gasp!) to shed them and keep them at bay.

And I will need to accept that I may hang onto a portion of my spare tire until I wean. As much as I love my new faux boob job, I will have to start mourning their loss now, as they are unlikely to hang around once my milk is expired and once they are subjected to the diet and exercise regimen I plan to implement.

5. Transition Nate to his crib successfully for naps and nighttime sleep

This is a small albeit substantial short-term goal. I cherish co-sleeping but I know our days are numbered. I have several sleep books in my arsenal and hope to devise a method to transition him in the next month or two. And since naps are still isolated to his swing, I'd also like to move those to his big, beautiful, yet motionless crib.

Like anything else, it's one step at a time.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Chia

You'd think from looking at my bed in the mornings after the alarm goes off that I'd been sharing my pillow with a woolly mammoth.

The hair loss I've inherited postpartum is incredible. My hair falls out in small clumps each time I shower and my hairbrush resembles a tumbleweed. I have to clean it out each week or else I may lose the handle in the debris. Literally everytime I look at Nate, I see a stray hair in his hand (about to enter his mouth, of course) or on his clothes. I've grown tired of the tell-tale tickle of loose hair. Drives me bonkers.

Apparently, this is very common after childbirth due to fluctuating estrogen levels. Higher levels of estrogen slow hair loss during pregnancy. Once estrogen plummets, the thick, lustrous head of hair that accentuates that rosy glow goes by the wayside.

I'm just hoping not to go bald by Christmas. Or else I might be asking Santa for some hair plugs. Or at least a nice wig. Real hair. No horse hair. I may be suffering from alopecia but I still have standards.

Besides, I think I've been quite nice this year.

Figure 8

It looks like it's time to bid farewell to maternity wear and say hello to my old friend, size 8. We had been apart for quite some time - about 10 months - but we meet again. I can now manage to zip and button with minimal suck-inage. Sure, I'm sporting the ever-fashionable muffin top but I just gave birth less than 3 months ago so you can cut me some slack, right? I have about 8-10 more pounds to shed to reach my pre-pregnancy weight, according to my fickle digital scale. I'd actually already be down to said weight if my pregnancy hadn't amounted to this:

Uterus: 3 lbs.

Boobs: 1.5 lbs.

Blood: 3 lbs.

Water: 5 lbs.

Fetus: 7.11 lbs.

Placenta: 2 lbs.

Amniotic Fluid: 2 lbs.

Ben & Jerry's: 24 lbs.

Total weight gain: 48 lbs.

But I'm still in a celebratory mood considering my exercise schedule has been nonexistent but for two routines: carrying Nate and his cumbersome carseat up and down 3 flights of apartment stairs or suspending him above my head in a game of Airplane while simultaneously attempting to dodge spit-up bombs. Dieting is a no-no right now so I've made it this far from breastfeeding alone. Amazing. The hormones can actually work FOR me and not AGAINST me for once.

I admit there is sweet sorrow as I say goodbye to the Bella Bands and Secret Fit Belly. One more thing that distances myself from those pot belly days. Those days where I could feel my little man stirring and kicking inside of me. It was our little secret. Now, the secret is out and I have to share him with the world. While I love the life I now share with this little person and love showing him off like the proud momma I am, I do miss those intimate, romantic moments. It will be hard to pack away the skirt I wore to my baby shower. Or the jeans and striped polo tee I wore to the ultrasound that revealed we were on Team Blue. Or the bathing suit that transformed me into a beached whale. Okay, maybe not the bathing suit so much. But I will miss all of the sweet memories evoked by these articles of clothing.

While my bottom appears to be shrinking, my boobs are quite comfortable in their behemoth state. I've gone up a band size and almost two cup sizes since conception. I started out as a member of the itty-bitty titty committee so I'm pleased with my newfound plumpness. Advertisements for breast augmentation surgery no longer peak my curiosity. However, the milk melons are impossible to squeeze into my old, A-cup friendly tops without looking like I'm at home on the Bunny Ranch. I'm a mom now. I can't have the girls flaunting themselves seductively. Besides, the obvious road maps across the continent of my chest are not exactly attractive. So, sad as it may be, I need to harness them. I've found the tops that fit best are the stretch cotton camisoles with the shelf bra. Those are no-fuss for nursing - which is a requirement at the present time - and can be paired with a sweater or a business suit. It's funny how a baby makes you much more simplistic and decisive. If it fits and matches, it's a go. No more modeling in front of the mirror for an hour.

While we're on the subject of growth, at 11 weeks old, Nate has officially shifted from 0-3 to 3-6 month apparel and has been in size 2 diapers for about a week. His toes now frightfully stick over the edge of his cradle swing. I just can't get over how big he's getting. Sigh. Before I know it, he'll be rolling over and sitting up on his own.

Can someone please hit the pause button?

One Instance Where I Love Being Wrong

I want to thank all of you for your well wishes, thoughts and/or prayers. It seems to have paid off.

I DO NOT have a uterine prolapse. All of my pelvic organs are intact. That sound you hear is me exhaling with relief. The nightmares of surgery, pessaries and hysterectomy that beleaguered me for approximately 28 hours can now subside.

However, I DO DID have a ton of scar tissue built up in my love cavern. No wonder Vadge was so perturbed.

The doctor first tried to cauterize the tissue. Yes, you heard right. That means he burned my girly bits with a device that resembled a large matchstick. Upon further examination - and perhaps the influence of a grown woman brought to tears - he decided that the cauterization probably wouldn't be a permanent fix. So, he gave me local anesthesia - yes, a needle in the hoohaa - and cut it out.

Can you tell it was a fun day?

The kicker was that my DH had to work, as did my mom, so I had to bring Nate solo. He wouldn't sit in his carseat without crying incessantly so I had to hold him on my chest while I lay spreadeagle on the exam table in purgatory, grimacing. I tried to hide my excruciating expressions from him but I've always been a pretty bad liar. Apprehension was written all over Nate's little face.

These are the days of my life, I lamented. Tuesday, I watched helplessly as my little guy got his first round of shots and now on Friday, the tables were turned and he got to watch Mommy suffer from the sidelines.

I feel like I've given birth all over again. I had to take two Tylenol 3's just to be able to sit on my a$$ without jumping out of my skin. I'm sore and bleeding a shade of mauve that would be somewhat pretty if I was ignorant to its origin. I'm back to spraying Dermoplast on myself in order to pee comfortably. The cauterized tissue even leaves behind an odd smell, not unlike that of lochia after delivery. It exhausts me just to recount this experience.

All this just to be able to have sex again. It had better be worth it. With the way I feel right now, I'd be perfectly content if no one touched me down there ever again.

I'm seriously considering a scheduled c-section if we happen to be blessed with another baby. I know it sounds like I have a flair for the dramatic and maybe I am underestimating the whole 'major abdominal surgery' aspect. But I am dead serious. I think the recovery period would be about the same, since it is now 11 weeks PP and I'm still dealing with issues down below. And it looks like I have at least another week before I heal from this most recent debacle. I'm sure I would have been able to DTD by now if I had a c-section. Life would probably be back to normal. Well, as close to normal as you can get with a newborn.

I never expected postpartum to be a breeze but this has really caught me off guard. They certainly didn't prepare me for this in my childbirth class. As a matter of fact, I think a partial refund is in order.

Peek-A-Boo *UPDATE*

WARNING: You can file this one under TMI and WTF. If you are uncomfortable reading graphic content regarding a fellow blogger's hoohoodilly, I urge you not to read further.

I woke up this morning to go pee, as usual. As I wiped, I noticed specs of blood. Hmmmm. Tell me I'm not already getting PPAF, I bemoaned. It's only been 10+ weeks and I'm exclusively breastfeeding for cripes sake.

Upon further inspection, I noticed a pointy piece of tissue hanging from the bottom of my vajayjay. I thought it could be bloody discharge and tried to wipe it away only to realize it was firm - almost gummy in texture. I did not have the courage to excavate the trenches so I shuffled myself into some panties and headed off to work.

I feel like I've been accosted and am being asked to describe the perpetrator that exposed himself to me. It happened so suddenly that it is hard to illustrate the finer details.

My first thought is uterine prolapse.

I am scared.

I have a call into the OB and will keep you all posted. Any prayers or thoughts you could muster would be greatly appreciated.

UPDATE: They can't fit me in until tomorrow at 1:30pm. Apparently, this is the only "emergency" spot they have available. Hopefully, my uterus doesn't fall into the toilet in the meantime. If, in fact, it is what I suspect.