You could write a book

Oh, the things they don't tell you.
To say that pregnancy and the birth process is a well documented experience, is sorta like saying the sky is blue. I mean, come on -- when a Playboy Bunny can write a book about it, then you know the cannon is fairly well covered. That's Jenny McCarthy for those of you that didn't know.
I felt then, that there was little that I could offer to the world in terms of new insight on the process. However, there is that period after you have a baby -- both immediately and like, 2 months afterwards that gets little press.
What they don't tell you could actually fill a book.
Its like a secret ritual that you have go through to enter the mommy sorority.
I though hazing was a frowned upon activity, but oh well....
I will save you all the gory details and some of the less, erm, socially acceptable pitfalls that befall most women. Yes, as a new member of the sorority, I have drank the kool-aid, learned the secret handshake and will now keep some details to myself. But there are a few that I feel can be discussed.
Your figure.
I know, I know. Why persist on a topic that plagues most women anyway? Regardless of their childbearing status? I bitched about it before I got in a family way, so I reserve the right to continue merrily down that path.
And in keeping with the trend that the media has so willingly given us -- you see all the celebrity moms that looks like, well rock stars, 4 weeks after their kid arrives.
This is what I think, You hear stories all the time of people that just "lost the weight, I swear I didn't do a THING"
These people fall into two categories:
1) the aforementioned celebrity or 2) 23 year olds whose bodies just bounce back.
As I am not a celebrity packing a doctor that does a C-section and a tummy tuck at the same time, a personal trainer and chef nor did I start out as some size 4, rail thin 23 year old, this has become an issue.
An issue that has manifest itself through my closet. I have been working on getting all the donated pregnancy clothes back to their respective donatee's. Thus, I have had to go back into the hazy, Rubbermaid bin filled world of pre-pregnancy clothes to fill the closet back up.
Problem. I am still about 4-5 lbs off my pre-pregnancy weight. And while 4-5 lbs shouldn't cause major issues, its where it is living that is the problem.
My boobs are HUGE. And I have a tire right round' the middle. So none of my pants will button and my shirts are too tight.
Even my "fat clothes" (yes girls, you all have some in the closet) are pushing it.
Which means that I am going to have to go buy NEW stuff. And while I normally enjoy a good round of retail therapy, having to buy stuff because nothing fits is not a fun shopping trip. Unless of course, its because it is too big. But I haven't had one of those shopping expeditions in quite some time. Nor will I at the rate I am going. Because in order to get into a smaller size, one needs to actively make an effort to BE a smaller size. Right now my main goal is sleeping for more than 3 hours at a stretch. Not making it to spinning class on a regular basis. Of course, based on the above 3 paragraphs, my lack of willingness to fix said issue does not preclude my desire to bitch about the problem.
Sex.
Clearly having sex is what got me into this situation in the first place.
Yes dear reader, this wasn't some immaculate conception. Shocker I know.
But there comes a point when you can't use the "I don't have the ok from the doctor yet" excuse anymore. Because his books let him know exactly when that mystical, magical appointment should roughly take place.
But let me paint a picture for you -- one some of you are all too familiar with. For some, welcome to the harsh reality of parenthood.
You haven't slept a good solid night in, oh 3-4 months. The last month of pregnancy is a bitch for sleeping, and after munchkin, well yeah. You are wearing an old ratty t-shirty and the only pair of work out shorts that fit. Said t-shirt is covered in baby spit up and leaking boob juice. Which creates a nice, slightly curdled milk smell to your outfit. You haven't showered in at least 24 hours. You haven't shaved in like, a lifetime. Anywhere.
There is a baby in a bassinet RIGHT next to your bed that could wake up at any time.
And this, this is a picture of attractiveness? I suppose kudos should be offered up to anyone that can see beyond this picture of less-than-hotness and still have a modicum of desire, but wow.
I just can't get there from here.

Whew.
I feel better and I hope you have learned something.
Now Listening: At Last! by Etta James