Sorry guys, I’m not equipped to fill you with holiday cheer or life optimism today. Do you know what I would like to be filled with today**? Pain medication. And boozahol.
Bob Marley is doing incredibly well with the whole weaning process, surprising no one because he’s a perfect baby who perfectly adapts to any and all situations. His poor, sainted mother, on the other hand, is a hot mess. Like the emotional part yesterday wasn’t bad enough, today I have ALL THE BOOB PAIN ON THE PLANET. All of it. I bet your boobs feel awesome right now. You’re welcome.
Mothers who have been through this, do you have any tips? I know that I must have made it through safely with The Tornado, but I don’t remember wanting to die quite so fervently.
I wish I could just go for a boob job right now. Just chop these ones off and glue on new, pain-free, perky ones who live where they’re supposed to, not halfway to my belly button. I’d post a picture of what I mean, but I’m FOR SURE not going to Google “perfect boobs” at work. It’s too close to Christmas to start looking for a new job. In fact, I wonder if typing “boobs” so many times will send up a red flag to our IT department. Boobie boobie boob boob. TITTIES! (if you’re from IT, then I’m SORRY.)
This wouldn’t be The Best Life if I couldn’t at least find a silver lining, so here we go. As sore as the girls are, they look SPECTACULAR today. They are giant and rock hard and they’ll probably explode any minute. Ok. That last part wasn’t exactly a silver lining, but give me a break – I’m delirious from pain over here.
Do you have any post-surgical opiates you no longer require? Do you deliver?
**Husbandio – I know what you’re thinking and the answer is YES!