"Do NOT pop the bubble wrap in the front seat because I need that".
"Oooooh, we have bubble wrap?"
"Marie, I am serious. Don't."
This is a permanent character flaw for me. When someone says do not do something, well, that's really all I think about doing. Why Eric doesn't KNOW this after 6 years I have no clue. As I drove to work this morning I stared at the tempting, air filled bubbles, just waiting to be popped. To make matters worse I get stopped by a train. I am not going to say that ALL the bubbles remained in tact, but Eric should still be able to ship his package safely...
I do have a point here. This post is not all about bubble wrap. No. It's really about farting. Put your honey bun down because this will probably get just a little graphic.
The Baby C (we still need a nickname) was scheduled to be born Sept 16th at 7:30 am. Thank the Lord I didn't have to wait for the second delivery slot which was at 11:30. I was not allowed to eat anything after midnight.
Now due to my very rebellious issues and the fact that I was on an eat every time my mouth opened schedule, I was worried about the lack of food that would NOT be shoveled into my fat pregnant gullet.
I wasn't worried about being cut open or rearranged in my gut region. I was worried about getting hungry and not being able to do a damn thing about it.
We had a lovely dinner of endless shrimp at Red Lobster the night before the surgery followed by a small chocolate milkshake at around 10pm. When I went to bed I was GOOD. The following morning however, I was STARVING. My body didn't know it was going through major surgery. The baby didn't KNOW he was entering the world to suckle at my TOTALLY AWESOME SWEET MILKING PRODUCING BOOBIE. We were hungry. THE END.
I made it through the surgery so good and everything was great. I felt so good and didn't REALLY need to pain shot. I totally took it anyway because HELLO, long time since I have had anything stronger than a TYLENOL and maybe, just maybe it would make me forget about my hollow belly.
The nurse finally came in and offered me ice chips and sprite and said, "Let us know when you pass gas". People if I knew then what I know now I would have sat up in my bed and bitch slapped that ho into the Christmas holiday.
I crunched my ice chips and drank my sprite like I had been walking through a desert with a horse with no name (try to get that song out of your head now I dare you) and wondered do I need to toot? No, I don't think so.
When the numbness wore off I decided to try out my sea legs a bit and also was told that that would help me stimulate a fluff so that I could get some dinner. I still was in NO PAIN. I walked all over the hospital. Down to the nursery to compare the cuteness of the other babies which I have to tell you, either it was a slow day or there were just no other babies created that day that compared to mine. I got back to my room and nothing not even a squeak of a fart.
So I settled in with my little cutie pie and napped and chatted with visitors and tried to forget about my hunger pains. At supper they brought broth. BROTH. Juices from a boiled chicken. Liquid. "This is all you can have until you pass gas doctors orders". As I am sitting there eating,and I use this term loosely, my husbands buddy brought in pizza for me. If that was not enough to burst into a sobbing fit my mommy had brought me m&m cookies to eat after the birth and my grandmother had brought brownies. I am not a total fat kid but I had not partaken in any of those treats for the past 5 months and I was ready to get my sugar induced grub on.
As I stared at the melty cheese and smelled the sausagy goodness I thought "What would one little bit hurt".
Stayed tuned for part two of "What it hurt"