Ding Dong the Gina’s Dead November 4, 2010

Just in case you read the title incorrectly, it’s not Gina (Jeen-uh) like a girl’s name. It’s a half nick name version of vagina….Gina. (nod my head in reassurance) You understand.

So let’s revisit…

Ding dong the gina’s dead, the broken crotch of the south is dead. It’s true. It use to be funny and now it’s just a big messy body part.

I went to the doctor today for the sixteenth thousandth time since giving birth. I go about every 6 weeks. I’m for reals. This is my first time back since my surgery which we’ll say…didn’t work out for me. But I did get to spend about 1,000 dollars on the surgery so at least some good came from it.

I kid….I guess. I mean, I guess I had to have it to see if it would work. Now that it didn’t, I’m like Jay-Z and on to the next one.

My doctor  is going to call another doc at a prominent surrounding area hospital to see if they can help me. She asked me just in case if I’d be willing to go out-of-state for care and I was like, “Oh brother, what kind of crotch do we have on our hands here????” Who knew that giving birth to a fleshy bowling ball could be so destructive?  You know who did?  The bowling ball and Gina herself.

She also said that she feels like this could be a long-term issue for me which concerns her because I’m such a young lassie. DANG. That made me use words in her office like I and feel and like and crying.

Now I’m wondering if we’ll be able to try to have a baby in the time frame we originally wanted to but let’s not think that far ahead. Although, we haven’t been able to stick a feather in a cap and call it macaroni for almost 7 months now. Maybe it’s not thinking too far ahead after all.

I know I’m joking around a lot.  This is for two reasons:

I’m hilarious.

and

You can only take vaginas so seriously…..

But I am a little disheartened about it to say the least. Initially, it was impressive to say to my friends because I felt like the crazy Guinness World Record holder for saddest vagina but now…now I’m really like, “Okay guys jokes over. You can fix the kid now.”

In my wildest fantasy dreams I get to a specialist and they say, “Why this is the silliest thing I’ve ever seen and we can fix it with something really basic” like with a pack of Skittles or something. And no I don’t mean a pack of my torti cat Skittles. I mean the taste the rainbow kind. A double rainbow even.

I’m hoping that when someone extra-learned in the arts of crotches sees it that it won’t be as complex as what it seems to be now. Furthermore, I hope we can keep the care close to home. Forthlymore, I hope this is over in approximately one more month. Lastly, I know that won’t happen. At least the fourthlymore part.

Truth be told, I’d do it all over to have my cute little baby. If I got better and had another child and knew this would happen again, I’d still bring forth more glorious children from my loins. Right now I just want to know that I have the option to do anything with my gina that I want as I should be able to do at 28. If I want to dress it up like a police man, BOOM…I can. If I want to go on walks with it, Boom, Done! The funny part is that we always go on walks. I just want it to be like the old days where we could walk innocently down the lane without a care for each other. Those were the days. The gina free days.

So, the saga continues as I get to spread joy to the world in a new city with my record holding baby maker. Becca’s Gina, coming to a city near you.  May not be suitable for kids under 13.

“That’s Just The Way It Is”, Tupac Says May 23, 2010

Some things in life will never be the same:  the volume of music in my car, the cleanliness of my house, my vaginal walls, but of all the changes, the milk jugs are the worst.  The aftermath after a baby is devastating like a typhoon.  One of my buds asked me how the girls looked after my milk dried up.  “Not too bad”, I said.  “Pretty much the same just slight differences.”  Then four days passed and I had to tell her, “Bad news, the milk must not have all been gone when we talked last. ” It’s devastation on the home front.  I’m trying to not be crass here because, afterall, I am in fact blogging about my personal particulars but the point is not so much the body part but the differences that occur.  Kind of gives me a gagging feeling in my throat just to think of it.  How can 2 1/2 weeks of breastfeeding turn a lady to silly puddy?  How sweet infant child, oh tell me how? 

I’m being dramatic and it’s not probably as bad as it seems or definitely as bad as it could be or will be a few kids later.  It’s just a fact of life kids…as simple as the birds and the bees. I think we should all get a bit giggly about it because there’s nothing you can do about it.  And, hey, you grew and got a human out of the deal.  I had 27 wonderful  years of the old bags anyhow. 

Honestly, the whole body shift thing doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it would.  I’ve always been a bone my whole life and I thought any difference would be drastic for me.  I’ve lost all but 3 or 4 pounds of my pregnancy weight and she’s only 5 weeks old so it’s no big deal Lucille.  My stomach is back to flat but I still have the really dark line down it and I can’t wait for it to disapper already!  It’s not firm but it’s flat.  And I get a little rolly in the tummy if the pants are too tight thought that’s for sure.  BUT I think your body still isn’t totally the same, even if your weight is.  The old chest will one day be able to tied over my solider like a continental solider but that’s where we are all headed apart from surgery.  Again, a fact of life people just like dying and paying taxes…we all have to do it.

In a way it’s really liberating.  I feel more like a woman now than I ever have.  I’m about roar because I feel so mighty and empowered.  That’s silly though because I picture a male lion roaring and not a female so that’s not really feminine empowerment like I was describing.  I feel like I’m about to trumpet like an elephant I feel so  mighty and empowered!  If you close your eyes and picture an elephant, did you a picture a boy or a girl?  That’s what I thought.  With elephants it makes no difference.

I love how maternal I feel and how I want to care for my babies, your babies, all the babies in all the lands of the earth.  I feel maternal towards everyone now, even more than I did pre-baby.  I want to take care of everyone even more.  So much that I could neigh like a…. just kidding…that moment has passed.

I’m really feeling like the ole’ beckycat these days and it’s amazing how much you enjoy being a mom when you aren’t crying all day and sleep deprived and having panic attacks and barfing and gagging.  Who would’ve thought eliminating those simple details could make such a difference?

So the moral of the story is this:  I’m at home alone without a child and needed to write a blog. 

Enjoy yourselves today mother’s of sagginess and sweet babies and lowered fannies.  We are women! Hear us trumpet!