Catheters, Coffee and Crap

I have a theory. 

While my theory hasn’t been rigorously tested, I do feel it would hold up well under peer scrutiny.

No one enters motherhood with their dignity intact. 

During the course of my gestation, I felt my shyness slowly begin to fall away. I mean after the third practitioner’s gone knuckles deep, what’s the point, ya know? 

Approaching my induction date, I honestly felt confident about the level of which my body would be on display. The female body is a marvel and a beautiful thing. I was creating life! 

Until the Doctor on call strolled in mid-contraction to announce it was time to pursue the cesarean. 

I did not want this. I did not prepare for this. 

Utterly deflated, they WALK me back into the OR, yes, mid-contractions. I’m then asked to straddle what resembles a surgical surfboard. 

My body goes into panic mode while my brain goes into overdrive. 

These people are insane. 

How in God’s green earth am I supposed to get up on that “table”?!

Oh crap…another contraction. Breathe. Breathe. 

“Hello, my name is (let’s call her Dorcus) Dorcus, and I’m your anesthesiologist…I’ll take good care of you. Let me know if you feel anxious or nauseous, I’ll be sure to give you something.”

Around this time, I’m half listening. Looking back, maybe I was beginning the disassociation phase of trauma. 

“…spinal tap…”

“…you’ll feel a small pinch…”

“…curve your spine…”

Oh no…another contraction. 

In comes (we’ll call her Gertrude) Gertrude, my sweet, tiny nurse. I must not have been in the best position for the spine stabbing because sweet Gertie begins to hug me. I hear Dorcus instruct me to hug Gertie back. 

“Let me know where you feel this,” Dorcus says.

Giant sting. 

“In my leg.”

I whisper to Gertie, “I’m getting another contraction.” 

“She’s getting a contraction!” Dorcus pauses her stinging stabs. 

Breathe. Don’t throw up. Just keep breathing.

“Okay, how about now?”

Giant sting.

“In my left vagina lip.”

This is what torture and degradation combined must feel like. Interesting combo. 

Did I mention my sweet Gertie was tiny? I am not so tiny. At this point, to the onlookers, it probably resembles me choking the life out of a middle school kid. 

“Where do you feel it now?”

“Nowhere.”

Laid back on the surfboard I go, at this juncture several things begin to happen at once. Think, lights, camera, ACTION! 

Huge stadium-bright lights come on. I’m being spread eagle and wiped down, diaper change-style prepped for my catheter while a man (let’s call him Tom) skips in with a huge smile, “It’s your big day!”

Whoop there it went. My dignity. 

Sigh.

Hey Tom…come on in. Actually, come one…come all!

“Dorcus?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll take that anxiety medicine now.”

One month later…

It was a morning filled with hope, courage really. I decided to meet a friend at a park for coffee and a mommy and me stroll. The weather was beautiful, mid-October. Cinematic. I was adorned in cute athleisure wear. Alayna, baby was a cutie patootie.

I had prepared to my mommiest! 

Diaper Bag ✔️

Diapers ✔️

Wipes ✔️

Change of clothes ✔️✔️

Paci ✔️✔️✔️

We strolled. We talked. We laughed. It was so nice to get out of the house. I was so proud of myself. 

As I pulled Alayna from her stroller for some snuggles on the grass, my friend informed me of a stain on her onesie. 

She had a blowout. 

Cool. Cool. I’m prepared for this. 

I have a change of clothes for her. 

As we head to the car, my stomach starts to rumble. 

Hmmm. 

Maybe trying a new coffee place and a new coffee order and a new routine was too much new for one morning. 

I got baby girl cleaned up. My friend is talking and I can tell she doesn’t want the morning to end yet, I didn’t either. 

Whew. Okay. I can really feel my stomach now. 

I better head home. 

“Sorry friend. I’ve got to head out. I’m not feeling well!”

I’ll make it in time. We don’t live far! 

Wow. I am REALLY feeling the coffee. 

Just make it home. 

Just make it home. 

Just make it home. 

As I Fast and Furious style pull into the driveway, I grab Alayna and literally RUN to the bathroom. (As fast as you can “run” with a car seat in hand, trying to unlock the door and all that).

Looking back…it resembled the hobble of an elderly man with one good leg. 

So with the car seat looped on my arm, poor Alayna being jostled to death, to the bathroom we stumbled. 

We made it to the bathroom! 

We. Made. It. Praised Be! 

Pull down my pants. 

Oh no.

No. No. No. Noooooo.

I, in fact, did not make it. 

As soon as my cute workout leggings cleared the runway…all hell proceeded to break loose. 

Poop. Everywhere. 

Alayna starts screaming. 

I started panicking. 

Then I started laughing. 

I mean, what else is there to do? 

I peel my soiled clothes off the best I can trying to reduce the contamination. Ball them into a contained corner. 

Clean up.

I scoop Alayna up in my arms while nature finishes her cruel course, and feed her. 

There on that fateful day. The clearest picture of motherhood appeared: me, sitting on the toilet buck naked. Dookie filled clothes wrapped in the corner. Alayna nursing on my left while my right boob leaks milk all over my leg. Meanwhile diarrhea flows… 

I laughed so hard, I cried.