Thanks to my ability to finally do something relatively sit-up-esque on my own and all the steri-strips from my c-section falling off in the middle of the night last night (all of them, every single one – on their own, I didn’t rip them off – but it was time, they were due off today), I finally got my first look at my scar. I panicked a little bit before I saw it. What am I doing to my body, slicing and dicing it left and right? What would God say about me butchering this body that he made for me?
Well, my anxiety was ridiculous. This scar is ridiculous… ly tiny. I’m serious, it looks like a little red hair across my pelvis, just a thin red horizontal line. I’m amazed by how short it is, too. It’s maybe 7? 8 inches long? (That’s what she said.) I can’t believe Dr. Wolanski pulled a person out of there. The scar from Mr. Nasty is maybe 10 inches or a foot long, and zig zags vertically down my stomach and around my belly button down to my pelvic area. It’s no wonder that when any doctor sees the Mr. Nasty scar his eyes bug out of his head. I’ve told doctors before about having a big cyst, then lifted up my shirt later, during the exam, and they’re all like, “and what was THIS from?” implying that I didn’t reveal my entire medical history. I paused, like, are you serious, and said, “Um… the CYST.” It’s really unbelievable. It is. People see it, and they do not believe it. Tom’s friends said things like, “my wife had 3 kids, none of them were that big,” and “you are officially the baddest mofo I know.” Yeah. Well… He’s right, and I AM.
I texted Mom about my scar comparison and she just responded [Mr. Nasty] “Seriously was serious!” I told her that might be my favorite text of all time.
I took pictures, but no one needs to see all that. Yes, the scar is small… my gut is not. (Although it’s nice to be instantly skinnier again – very much like after having a certain 15 lb. cyst removed. I can see my feet!)
So, I’m proud and excited. I feel a lot like I did after Mr. Nasty was removed: I CAN TAKE ON THE WORLD and I WANT TO GO TO DISNEY WORLD. It’s nice to be sitting up unassisted. Weening off pain medicine. I feel good.
In other news: Breastfeeding is tough! I should have been tipped off when the nurses and lactation specialists at Martha Jefferson said, “don’t give up” and stuff like that. Bruce is a good little sucker, but my supply is pretty measly. It got up to about 2 ounces at one point the week that Mom was here, but it has declined ever since. I’m lucky to get an ounce every 3 hours. That’s not enough for this growing boy, so we’ve been supplementing with formula. I am blaming it on lack of nutrition (I generally just eat dinner, maybe a snack or two in the afternoon… I know, right? Awful.) and lack of my mommy here taking care of me and things around the house. Gosh, that was nice. I haven’t talked enough about how wonderful it was to have Mom here. I keep meaning to devote a blog post to recapping our week together. It was just nice to have someone make me a peanut butter sandwich and walk the dog. Everyone in the house was content, and we never got back into the groove after she left.
Anyway, as far as the breastfeeding… I’ve got a plan. Eat more. Drink more. We’ll see how that does. I had a good sized lunch, fed Bruce, pumped a tiny bit, then had a bowl of oatmeal (gross!) and orange juice and a whole lot of water so we’ll see how we do. Bruce lost a whole lot of weight because I have no clue what a growing boy needs… so, we’re working on beefing him up. At two and a half weeks old, he’s a little over his birth weight today. Yikes. But… he is gaining at a steady rate. Mommy and Daddy are new at this, but we’re figuring it out.
Just hope the little guy doesn’t starve to death in the process.
That La Kid 
I like this post. And I LOVE You All and Miss you terribly!!
You have to feed him more…to build up the supply to meet his demand…