I'd like you all to meet Boy. (Luckily for my blog I'm not introducing Girl2, OtherGirl, or Girl-II, Boy is just so much easier) Though he looks about 12 in this picture, he was actually only about 2 weeks. He has joined our family with a certain type of unstoppable force. From a torturous pregnancy highlighted by a suppressed immune system in the height of the worst cold/flu season I can remember, to a labour where I was sure I was going to die, and then started to worry that I wasn't going to, Boy was a trial before I ever laid eyes on him. However, once I did, I forgave him for most of it. He still has been a trial, not because he's a difficult baby, in fact, somewhat the opposite, rather it is the lingering effects of the emergency c-section that was required to get his massive 11lb, 6oz body out of me. Yup, that's right. There is no typo there. (And for all you health care professionals, no, I did not have Gestational Diabetes, I just made a giant baby... all the weight is in his head, I'm sure).
My c-section recovery has been slow. They told me I wasn't allowed to lift anything heavier than 10lbs for 6 weeks (with Boy being the one exception). I think that women who are recovering from surgery like this should be given a hat or a t-shirt or something so the general public will understand why they are making their mother carry the baby carseat around, or lift their toddler into the car while they just stand there. For someone who is used to doing everything on her own, it kills me to have to let other people do simple things for me. This, however, is just the normal part of recovery. The abnormal part for me is the reason I have nurses coming to my house on a daily basis. Apparently my incision didn't heal quite properly, resulting in a few weeks of constant bleeding, and now something they call "a cavity" which requires fresh, sterile dressings daily until it heals up. I prefer not to look. The whole idea of it kind of grosses me out. Needless to say, I'm counting down the days until I can vacuum again, or carry my own laundry basket, or heave furniture around the room on a whim. Until then, I'll be good. I have zero desire to make this healing process any longer.
You can tell I am healing though. Yesterday I took a book out of the library about cheese making. (Husband rolled his eyes. He typically refuses to eat anything I make that requires curdling, or various forms of bacteria). I also took out a canning book, and am planning my canning season accordingly. The canner will see a lot of new things before it gets put away for another year.
Yup, I'm starting to find myself again. Who wants to make homemade mustard?
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