You can know anything. It's all there. You just have to find it.

-Neil Gaiman


Friday, May 29, 2009

When it rains, it pours

So I know I've been blathering on about baby junk. Blah, blah, blah, how boring, right? Sorry, but I'm one of those people who has a hard time dissociating myself from my current environment.

Maybe I should be talking about politics or stupid TV shows. Unfortunately, I haven't watched any American Idol or Dancing with the Stars this season, though I'm anxiously awaiting the next season of Entourage and Lost to come out on Netflix.

I'm one of those people who now stare at pregnant ladies like a weird pervert. I just STARE at them. And at babies, too. I notice them EVERYWHERE.

It's exactly like the time right after we bought our Volkswagen Jetta. I noticed Jettas everywhere. Pretty much all Volkswagens in general. The red Beetle in the parking lot. The silver Passat passing me on the highway. The black Jetta idling behind me at the traffic light. I felt a kinship with these cars, with the drivers. I was one of THEM. I knew the code, the secret handshake.

I still give people the benefit of the doubt if I see they are driving one. I still notice. To be honest, I've never had a Volkswagen driver cut me off, slam on their horn, scream, "Get Bent, Shithead!" from their open window, or almost change lanes into me because they were yakking on the cell phone and didn't check their blind spot.

I have, however, yelled, "Get Bent, Shithead!" from my car. At an Oldsmobile. But I had the windows rolled up.

Now I find out that my sister is also expecting a baby. I don't know if I'm supposed to say that here. But I did.

So this means there will be three grandchildren born within a year of each other. My mom is probably so happy right now she is pooping rainbows and unicorns. And glitter...

And since we're on the subject of poop.
If you have any sort of decency you will stop reading right now.

Alright, you are my kind of person.

Anyway, about poop. I'd always taken it for granted. I never knew how lucky I was to not have problems with my bowels. I never understood how going to the bathroom could make or break your entire day.

I do now.

I'm suffering from horrid constipation. Partly the hormones. And partly the effect of the Zofran medication. It's awful. I've been eating prunes and corn. Since I've recently been able to stomach the taste of coffee, I've been drinking a little bit, which does seem to help. But seriously, not taking a dump for THREE DAYS?

That is just wrong.

I already have nagging lower back pain, and I don't know why. Also, sciatica. I haven't gotten heartburn. Yet. But now I live in fear of hemorrhoids because I can't go number two successfully.

I distinctly remember being about fifteen years old and setting the kitchen table for dinner when a commercial for Preparation H came on the little TV on the counter. My mom was standing at the island, cutting cucumbers and tomatoes for the salad. As I folded the napkin I suddenly asked aloud, "What is a hemorrhoid?"

My mom stopped cutting. "W-what?"
"A hemorrhoid. What is it?" I pointed to the commercial. "They talk about it but no one ever says what it is. They don't show you. What is it?"

I was totally serious, I didn't know what it was. I figured it had something to do with your butt, seeing as how everyone on the commercial was grimacing and wincing as they sat down or shifted in their seat.

But I didn't know what, exactly.

My mom actually put the knife down. She had a weird look on her face, like she had swallowed a bug. She didn't know what to say; she didn't tell me what they were, she only said, "I had them when I was pregnant."

And that was the end of that conversation.

Several years later, when I was working at the Biomedical library in college, I saw a picture of a hemorrhoid in a medical journal. I was making a photocopy of an article for a professor and saw a full color photograph, up close. And you know they don't put in the mild cases. They go for the gore, those journals do. The editors probably sit around a conference table and have a blast looking for the most disgusting pictures they can find. It's probably a contest. I also realized that someone out there actually has a job of photographing people's butt holes. And I really don't think they pay those people enough.

When I saw the picture I actually screamed and slammed the book shut.

It's a reminder to keep on eating my prunes and corn... And broccoli. Lots of broccoli.

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