Cookies and “My Cookie”

Hey!  Guess how many cookies I’ve had today?  Well, not cookies, per se, but raw cookie dough frozen into balls so I can make cookies by just turning on my oven and laying them out on a sheet.  WHICH WILL NEVER HAPPEN LET’S JUST FACE IT THOSE COOKIES DOUGH BALLS WERE DOOMED FROM THE OUTSET. 

 

Four.  Four cookie dough balls.  This is bad for two reasons: my tummy is a bit mad at me for the low level of nourishment it has received this afternoon, and my six week postpartum doctor appointment was this morning.

 

I’ve been declared healthy, so now the burden of weight loss is on me… no more can I claim that I can’t work out because it’s too soon.  Oh no.  Now, the only things getting in the way are my willpower, the dishes, the laundry, the vacuuming, brushing the dog, cuddling a sweet and squishy newborn, changing his diaper, cooking, playing with Charles, hanging out with Tony, sleeping, grocery shopping…  Hmm.  When does a mom have time to work out?

 

I guess I should start eating better, too, but I suffer from the lack of appetizing one-handed meal availability.  And a sweet tooth.

 

I have 30 lbs to lose.  I guess that’s what happens when you gain 55.

 

I also cleared the air a bit with my doctor (whom I adore).  It seems he thought I might harbor a bit of anger towards him for letting James sit with his head half out of my vag for a nightmarish 15 minutes while I pushed.  When I think about the pain of those 15 minutes, as I cried, told the nurses I couldn’t do it, and very nearly vomited, sure, I shudder a bit.  It was, honestly, the worst pain I have ever felt.  But I’m not angry.  If anything, I am thankful.  Take it from a mother who has had it both ways: you DON’T want an episiotomy if you can help it.  Once Jamie was born, the pain was gone.  That was not the case the first time around, and I lived in mortal fear of pooping until Charles was about 8 weeks old.

 

The doc also told me that the other doctor did “too good” a job of stitching me back up last time, which is why I wasn’t stretching nearly as well as I probably should have.  That’s an old-fashioned man doctor for you; take an extra stitch for the husband’s pleasure.  Sorry, Tony, but Doctor B said he sewed me up a bit looser this time so if we decide to have more kids, it’ll be easier next time.  I love a doctor who is on my side!