OH MY GOD YOU GUYS.
How’s that for dramatic? Because I figured I should be dramatic since really, I’ve been doing a whole lot of sitting on my ass since I’ve been here last. Well, okay, TECHNICALLY, I slept some in there, too, but really, I laid on my back and squiggled around like a bug while approximating sleep because frankly, sleeping on your back sucks a fat one. I know people are all breezily like, “sleeping on your back is good for your chi,” or some shit, but so is eating free-range organic pesticide, sweat-shop free paste. And I like Uncrustables.
Shockingly, I am still not running marathons.
Frankly, I’m still not able to take showers. Which means I’m a cockroach that twirls in the air when I’m on my back while smelling bad. Which means that you should come over immediately, if not sooner.
I’m going to the doctor today to hear how I am doing with this whole recovery thing. I’m trying to be a good patient and not be all, ‘Am I better yet?‘ every forty-five seconds to The Daver who is probably ready to set me out with tonight’s garbage. And if he sets me out on my back, see, I can’t get up (read: I am the cockroach in Kafka), so it’s likely they’ll toss me into the dumpster with the landfill-clogging shitty baby diapers.
I haven’t seen them yet, but I now have pictures of my incision. It goes from BEYOND one hip to BEYOND the other. Which? RAD. I have a feeling I will look like a jaunty smiley face when I am done healing.
ALSO? And even more wicked rad?
I HAVE A NEW BELLY BUTTON.
Oh yes, Pranksters, my old saggy belly button that had scars from my multiple piercings? GONE. In it’s place is a new, improved belly button.
I’m going to get a sign that says, “MY BELLY BUTTON BRINGS ALL THE BOYS TO THE YARD.” Because it totally will. Once it’s done being covered in tiny stitches, because right now, I don’t think any boys are going to be all, “damn right, it’s better than hers.” I wonder if my troll who called me navel grazing knew that I might take him so…seriously.
Except no, I don’t care about trolls so much.
But I have to tell you about the ones that were all up in my shit on the Toy With Me article last week. They hurted my feelers and made me sad in the pants. Because, Pranksters, you’ll like this: I got someone who got pretty pissed about it. Now, I was in surgery when the Shit Went Down. When I came out, the last thing I wanted to do was to be all WHAT’S THE INTERNET DOING!?! so I didn’t check until Friday.
On Friday, I saw that while I was under the knife, someone had been being all In My Face over there and THEN, had gone to the trouble of blocking me on The Twitter. Which, hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!
I’m in surgery, you moron. I’m not getting up to engage in a flame war.
Whatever. Now I’m just all, IS THE RHYTHM REALLY GONNA GET ME LIKE GLORIA ESTEFAN SAID? Because, freaky.
(thanks to my Twitter friend I will later link to for putting that horrid idea in my head)
OH! And I shared an incredibly personal story about antenatal depression, which TOTALLY does not match the tone of this whacked out post here on Postpartum Progress. I wrote it BEFORE I was stoned and on heavy-duty painkillers. Which, heh, yeah. You should read it. It’s important. This post, however, my old ass troll would LOVE.