The Day My Uterus Fell Out

Alright party people things are about to get real. It's about to get real real. My lady parts have squatted out 2 wonderful boys in the last 24 months. In the last 34 months I have spent 19 of them pregnant and 14 of them breastfeeding. That means I have enjoyed one of those 34 months. Just kidding. Sorta.

People without kids tell me they want to know the truth. "Tell me the real story Sarah," they say. "I know you will tell me how it is (read: scare me and scare me and offend me)."

Oh you want the real story? It has many complicated chapters.

*Your vajeen. She's never gonna be the same. Never. After my first gorgeous little boy came flying out like he was on a 40 foot slide at a water park, the 82 year old man on call stitched me up with what I can only describe as fishing wire. It looked EXACTLY like fishing wire. I remember holding Brooks and being so insanely happy he was mine then glancing down and watching a man sewing. So weird. This time the doctor on call (I have no luck at getting my actual doctor....) told me I didn't need a stitch afterward. Which I can only assume means, "lady your vajeen, she's (it's a she right?) a lost cause, so I'm gonna save you from the pain associated with stitches and let you attempt to right this ship in the next few months with approximately 1 gajillion kegels. Do them in the grocery. Do them while you run. Do them while you watch the Real Housewives of Beverly Heels. DEFINITELY do them while you sneeze. Best of luck."

*Your cute stomach. Go ahead, head to the bathroom and look at it. See how underneath your belly button there's that tautness that you worked so hard for in spin class and refusing the morning donuts at work? Yea that's a goner. Forever. Don't worry though you can buy control top panties. They will just roll over and quadroople up when you bend over, but you can grab a hold of them and yank them back up when you stand back up. And don't worry they only cost $72! What are these things laced with, flecks of gold?
Sorry can't speak for a c-section but I can only imagine that after slicing through 4 layers of abdominal muscle that it's a challenge in a completely different way.

*Your brain. You can do sodokus until your eyeballs fall out but your brain will turn to mush the minute you pop out those precious babes. If you're really lucky, it might even happen during your pregnancy! I put the milk in the cabinet, leave the house with 2 different shoes, have left the house and done 3 hours of errands completely braless, I call my children by each other's names on a daily basis. The list goes on and on and I can only assume that when you give birth they actually sail outta there with a large chunk of your brain.

*Back to the body. The boobs, specifically. I can only speak for the effect of breastfeeding but man she ran a number on my tatas. I do love breastfeeding and I wouldn't take it back. It works for me and makes me happy to provide for my little men. But watched your nipples be pulled through the pump machine just makes you feel like a milked cow, and once your husband sees this on a regular basis, well you've just gone somewhere that you can't get back from. I'm not saying it's a bad place. It's just a different place. It's a place where you have to pick your boobs up and place them into your bra cups. It's a place where, and I've made this comparison on a blog before, but your boobs look like you dropped 2 clementines in panty hose. I've done the pinterest inspired armpit fat-dropping workouts. There is no picking these puppies back up. They live down by my belly button now.

I decided that post-baby number two, after 9 weeks of walking, light running, and doing the bike at the gym I was going to have to change things up to make my stomach not look like something off of a TLC operation show. I worked out throughout my whole pregnancy but my stomach is just in a state of disarray and something has to be done.

I decided that this week I would try out the cardio fusion zumba lumba dance mania class at the YMCA we go to. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, and how safe I'd been playing it on my little machines upstairs.

I know I have a couple male readers, so sorry to my husband and Pop! But it must be said: Working out while breastfeeding and during the lovely post-baby body recovery phase is just a hot mess. 20 minutes into the class, my nipples could cut glass and I could feel my milk coming in. With every burpee I looked down on the ground expecting to see half a gallon of breast milk for the class to share. I look around and see women 50 years older than me doing jumping lunges like they've been drinking coffee for 8 hours straight and I can barely get 1 inch off the ground. This 60 minute class will be some of the more embarrassing moments in recent history but I must plunge forward.

I can only assume it's the lovely post baby hormones but I am sweating like nobody has ever sweated in their life. This gymnasium must be air conditioned, but the heat, my gawd the heat. There is a woman about 4 rows in front of me with one of the nicest behinds I've ever seen. I hate her. I hate her so much. I wish she would turn around so I could tell myself she has a nice body but only a decent face. No don't, nice butt lady, because I'm sure your face is great too. She probably even has on a coat of mascara or two and blush. I hate the mascara gym people. I really do loathe you.

Everyone is decked out in Lululemon tops and cute cropped pants. Some women are wearing  nicer outfits than I have actually gone on a date with my husband in. I have yogurt on the bottom of my target workout tank and the butt of my 5 year old workout shorts are sticky but I honestly don't know why. During crunches I swear I see tiny little black stars and slightly move my neck so I don't get yelled at for not doing the exercise. I think I might have passed out there on my mat for a moment but I can't be sure.

With every single direction the petite instructor is giving, I want to yell "No." It's taking a lot of willpower to not yell No. If there were a youtube video taped of me for class it would probably be titled "Girl who hasn't exercised in 14 years attempts jumping, being normal."

Post-class, I'm walking around like I spend the last 3 weeks at a Dude Ranch riding a horse named HopALong. I must be crazy but I went back to class today. Despite all this work, my tatas remain low, my stomach has not returned to it's 18 year old taut self, and well, I can't see how I could possibly add Kegals to this 60 minute torture session. Seeing as how this class is 1 hour on Tuesday Thursdays mixed with the amount of chocolate only I know I eat, I expect to look like Gisele in approximately 3 years.

I'm really trying to be more consistent and write on Tuesdays and Thursdays every week, so next week stay tuned for a blog about how I turned my placenta into pills following Luke's birth as well as a Liebster Award Nomination post.