Coming Home

Squeezing out a very big kid, with no meds, over a period of about 15 hours, with the last hour's worth involving the ring of fire... yeah, that all leaves a battlefield in its wake. I'm fairly sure that most postpartum women share some set of physical woes. Well, one of mine is incontinence. I can't tell when I'll pee, nor can I stop or start it. I'm telling you, it's a wreck down there...

So, we come home and Jason transforms our downstairs into a homecare-baby-mama-papa-uber- living-space while I feed Storey and "wait to pee" (right... little did I know.)

Finally, I hand off the kid and walk into the bathroom to go and along with every possible thing a gal could need to heal her bottom, this is what I see:



witch hazel, a lit candle and a flower. I start to sob. Jason...

He comes to see what's wrong and that's the lovely moment when I start to pee. All over the just-cleaned-floor, in the just-made-perfect bathroom. Wetting oneself completely in front of the one you love. There's nothing finer.