I attended my very good friend, who I have adopted as a little sister’s baby shower yesterday. If you follow me on Instagram, you noticed the insta-overload that came upon me. You know how baby showers are: everything is soft, everything is beautiful, the mom to be is glowing and gorgeous and everyone has some type of advice for her. It’s a bonding experience. A bunch of women sit in a room for a few hours, laugh, chug down mimosas and bellinis while sharing birth stories and nightmares.
Women stood up in a beautiful room with exposed beams, filled with hydrangeas and roses and gave my friend advice on motherhood. Most were touching and made the room fill up with tears but no one told her that if her vagina has not acquired it’s own heartbeat yet, that it will. No one mentioned that toward the end of a pregnancy, your “good girl” feels as if she has been hitting the weights in the gym and is sore. She’s so, so sore. I didn’t hear one woman stand up and say, “you are going to cry… you are going to cry a lot.” or say, “that baby bullet might get used 5 times, congratulations”. I get it, it’s a positive time but aren’t we bonding here? Aren’t we all sisters and have to warn those who are coming forth? Should we not warn them about the shit ton of hair that will fall out 3-4 months post-partum making your bathroom look like the floor after a VH1 hair pulling fight? Should we not warn one another about the first poop you take after a c-section? Or that a ton of nurses will come into your room and ask you if you farted? They ask you that in front of everyone! Hemorrhoids. That’s all I have to say, hemorrhoids can happen to you. I cannot say that I know anything about vaginal birth but when my best friend had her baby in 15 minutes (yes, she pushed that sucker out that I am now proud to call my godson in 15 minutes), she said that she was certain that she did NOT have vaginal birth but a-hole birth. While she was sitting on a hospital toilet squirting cold water onto her vjj that felt as if it were on fire, she was and still is convinced that her son came out of her a-hole, which can only mean one thing, vaginal birth is literally a pain in the ass. Literally.
Then there are the fun things you get to experience just like the school girl you once were, like maxi pads. GIANT maxi pads. The biggest ones out there. The same ones you would get at the nurse’s office when you had your first “accident” in junior high. Alongside those maxi pads are the granny panties that you have to wear. I remember after I had Sophia when the nurse asked me if I had post-partum underwear. Well, of course I had post-partum underwear. I bought them at Pea in the Pod, they were pink and they had lace. No, no, no, I was wrong, those were not post-partum underwear. Post-partum underwear are the same panties you wore when you were 6 years old only there isn’t a cute barbie or princess printed all over them. They are just big and a pale yellow or nude. Not even a cute color. Just wrong, they’re just wrong.
So with all that said my dear and sweet Elizabeth who I lovingly call, Elisabeh. Welcome, we are happy to have you and will be here to guide you through this roller coaster that is motherhood, the same way we guided you through nightclubs and Cancun. We love you and will love the little guy that you have made part of our lives, perhaps even more than we love you.
With all my love,
Your friend who almost lost her life at a McDonald’s drive thru with you.