Anne Nahm

Here’s the damage a year after having my third child.  Currently weighing 72 pounds less than I did a week before I gave birth.

And 52 pounds less than I did the week after birth.

This makes me happy!  So happy I had to break out of my normal blue-gray-green t-shirt wearing fanaticism and go buy something orange.  I don’t know why.  Also, a new bra.  Yay!

Somebody earlier accused me of not actually having a bellybutton, since the camera is always covering it.  Which made me laugh and retort, “chestnuts are lazy!  I invented the question mark!”  Again, I don’t know why.  Especially since talking, as a mode of reply to an email, is hardly effective.

Oh, bellybutton.  It was once so perfectly O, if you pushed it, the operator would answer.  Now it’s an old Indian arrowhead.  You might find it out in the dirt while walking, and your dad would say, “Man!  That could be a hundred years old.”    (If you and your dad do find it out in the woods, though, would you pick it up?  Because either I’m there with it, and I don’t like dirt, or something horrible has happened to separate me from it.  And as old and broke down as that navel is, I’d like it returned to me before squirrels eat it.)

The only possible answer here, of course, is that bellybutton gave me three beautiful kids.  Which, yes, it did.  But my husband also has three beautiful kids. And a belly you could bounce quarters off of.  And sometimes we do.  And whoever misses has to drink beer from the other person’s bellybutton.  Which, for my part, used to be like lapping up a shot.  Also:  Ticklish!  But is now more like trying to consume an ice slushie in a soggy paper cone, all while sitting in a half inflated bounce house.  Which, while perhaps not exactly sexy in the traditional sense, at least keeps things interesting.

Anyway, Whooohoooo! 72 pounds lost!

ETA:  More weight loss photos are tagged as Anne Pics HERE.

Nine pounds, eight ounces of baby! And dear God, I want to tell you that much baby was a C-section. Or even a heavily medicated birth. But she wasn’t either of those things. What I’m not so hot on telling you is the response from the LPN who almost delivered my baby.

(Shortly after birth. In fact, may have been while I was getting stitched up directly after)

Me: Shouldn’t (the baby) be crying or something?
LPN: She’s fine. She’s just in shock from the delivery.
Me: She looks really bruised up.
LPN: That’s what happens when you are pretty much shot from a cannon.

Anyway, I had a pretty jinxy delivery that went perfectly all right. What can I say? Some people make car alarms go off when they walk by. I can cause a medical snafu just by existing within twenty feet of a medical building.

The night I delivered, I guess our small town hospital was understaffed. Meaning one doctor was on call in OB. There was one other patient on the floor when I got there. According to the sounds of her screams, she gave birth about fifteen minutes before I did.

Although HIPAA laws would suggest otherwise, it soon became clear from the medical staff that the other mom had gestational diabetes which was either undetected during pregnancy or at least unknown to the delivery staff. I guess they tried a vaginal birth and the baby crashed. I’m not sure what ‘crashing’ means in this case, but no one looked good when they talked about it later.

The upshot was that all medical staff save for two young LPNs were in the other room until two minutes before I delivered, at which time a harried-looking doctor rushed into my room (as response to me screaming through the wall: “Hellooooo! I’m pushing now!”) and spent most of my delivery changing scrubs in the corner of my room while yelling “break the bed!” and watching the two LPNs fumble around to try and follow those directions while I was busy crowning. Which, yay – glad to get clean scrubs on my doc.

So I dunno. I was glad I felt like I knew what I was doing with the whole birthing process, because I wasn’t too scared until the very end.

(Despite the fact that the LPNs stuck me five times and were still unsuccessful in ever giving me an IV line for antibiotics (I tested positive for Group B Strep, and so I probably should have had that penicillin. Doh.))

(Or that they could never agree on how dilated I was (hence me telling them I was going to push while they were debating if I was a 7 or a 9.))

(Or the fact that after the birth, after the first LPN showed me my placenta, the second one asked the following questions: A) Why do I keep coming up with 15 sponges – shouldn’t there be 16? and B) Can I throw the placenta out in the trashcan?)

(Although, to be fair, when I look at their job requirements, I think they were working above and beyond the call of their responsibilities on my shift.)

Anyway, reading back what I’ve written so far, it sounds kind of angry and bitter. But mostly what I felt like at the time was relief. If it had been either of my earlier two kids, I think I would have been terrified from lack of experience. Certainly the LPNs looked terrified. The realization that I knew more about what was going on than they did was disturbing, but it also made me feel very centered and strong in myself. So that was good.

Also, after giving birth, I tried to walk around every couple of hours to stay healthy. As a result, I went by the nursery several times. The other baby on the floor was kept there exclusively, front and center of the big glass viewing wall. S/he was so huge s/he made my nine-and-a-half-pounder look puny. I can’t fathom a vaginal birth on that one at all. Every time I walked by, there were always a few nurses or family members sitting next to the baby’s isolette. Seeing how pale and solemn they were about whatever had happened – It made me feel real lucky to get the birth experience I did.

Whew. Didn’t mean to unload a birth story or anything. Not even sure if any of this makes sense. Guess I needed to debrief. More later.

Was up all night with faux labor. It was so convincing that I had my toothbrush packed. All to end with nothing this morning. No baby, no tremors, no contractions. Maybe on retroflection, it was just a really bad case of gas. It was stinky, but I thought that might be the smell of fire and brimstone. You know, from being in Hell.

I’m still in my pajamas, waiting to drop into the old heave hos. But now that it’s past 1:00 in the afternoon and I haven’t had a contraction since four this morning, I’m starting to feel a little ridiculous. Not quite ridiculous enough to put on pants, though.

Here! Enjoy a song that won’t get out of my head. It’s in there with Varuca Salt for some reason. Most of my day has been a repetitive loop of I want it now! Nothing to worry about! There are actual claw marks inside my skull.

Sometimes, I get overwhelmed by the violence in the world. I turn on the TV and hear about some horrible, ongoing, generational war in which all are slaughtered. The needless destruction, the pain on both sides. Empathy for all creatures great and small overflows in my veins and I’m all, “Jeez, can’t everybody just get along? Love your fellow man, you stupid bastards.”

Annnnd then I spend three days with my own relatives. That’s when I realize DEF CON 2* with the missile silos open is a perfectly reasonable response to some people.

PS: As I stood in a parking lot yesterday, a relative bent down in front of my belly, cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “COME OUT BABY! WE’RE LEAVING TOMORROW. COME OUT NOW SO WE CAN SEE YOU BEFORE WE GOOOOOOOO!”

I actually felt my pelvis tighten to retract the fetus back into my body. It felt a hundred times grosser than a turtle heading at a dinner party, but there was no effing way I was going to extend that visit. I think it may have pushed my due date back at least three days.

*Thanks to Adrienne at BabyToolKit for the heads up on which DEFCON I needed. :^)

Honestly, what is the right response to someone who looks right at you, gestures to your enormous belly, and says in some half-irritated tone, “haven’t you had that baby yet?”

Because “um, no,” seems to lack something. Like a bitch slap.

Am very cranky these days. Would tell you details, but then ‘cranky’ just turns into ‘whiny’. And honestly, who needs that? Suffice it to say that everything annoys me. Un/Fortunately for both you and I, relatives descend today, which gives my free floating irritation a laser-like pinpoint on which to focus. And thus, whining ensues:

I woke up this morning to an email from my mother about how I was in no way obligated to meet up with relatives (who just happen to be here for Easter two weeks early. Not because of due date. Coincidence!) to spend this afternoon touring a bajillion antique boutiques and quilting stores in the area.

But in case I might want to go, here’s the itinerary! And all the places we could go for lunch! And they will be taking my 3-year-old with them! And if I do not want to go, please just shove the three-year-old through a crack in the front door, because once relatives see me, they will cry big, shiny tears if I don’t go with them. But! Don’t feel obligated. Honestly. Also, three-year-old will love going to many, many stores in which adults are distracted by talking and who will not be allowed to touch anything.

Also please reply to this email by Very Early In The Morning, or they will just show up and assume I want to go.

Un/fortunately, I woke up much earlier than my wiley mother must have suspected I would. Now I actually have time to ponder if I should go. Instead of just waking up to the doorbell and hordes of relatives descending. Do I fling my helpless child through the door and hide in the house? Tempting. But the child, she is so cute and seems to trust me. On the other hand, having to babysit my own kid, in tiny grandma stores, full of untouchables, while I am dragged about by the whims of aging tourists? Oh my slappy hand is getting all twitchy just thinking about it.*

Anyway, here’s last year’s Peeps are Evil for Easter. I thought about getting some chick-style Peeps and trying again this year. But in my current state, I would have inhaled them before they had a chance to do anything naughty. And then I probably would have gagged. And then I would have an obituary headline like Woman Dies Choking Chicken.

Here is the Bloggess, who is taunting executives through the mail. When I read this post, I was pretty sure she made this story up. But then I am reminded of every other post she has written and how they wind up true, and now I am not so sure.

And here is Amalah tweeting about the Aquarium. Which is quite a bit funnier than I just made it sound.

And here is The New Girl and her charming neighbor, Charlie Manson: licensed cattery owner and guy who left photographs in her mailbox.

Enjoy!

*Not slappy towards the child, who is cannot control acting like a three year old, but for my older relatives, who should know better.