Category Archives: pregnancy

Work out with me

I had my third baby a little over a year ago. I don’t remember how much I gained during pregnancy. 35 pounds? Something like that. After giving birth I lost some but most decided to stick around. That was fine, I didn’t GAF. At least I didn’t GAF until one day last winter when I looked at myself in a different mirror with different lighting and was like, damn girl, your noggin is way too small.

Historically I’ve been a pretty big ole bitch with an average-sized head. We can make do with that, no one minds. It’s not until I get a little bigger and my head size remains constant that I start looking like a pickle with a pea on it. No one’s writing songs about bitches with pickle-pea proportions! It was time to start working out!*

Fig. 1.0. I know you’re probably thinking wow, what a hack, she used AI to create that graphic. Joke’s on you.

The problem with working out is that 1) it sucks and 2) nobody has time for it. One time, before I had kids, I was at my sister’s house and her husband was telling me how it’s hard to make time to exercise. They had two kids at the time. I asked him, “Why don’t you just go work out? Ain’t that hard.” Because he’s a nice man who prioritizes family harmony, he laughed and brushed the comment off. But he never forgot it. I know because he reminds me of it all the time. And I deserve that. If someone said the same thing to me right now—as a working mother of three little kids, a weird dog, and a butthole cat—I’d lose my mind. Might go full Eminem-as-B-rabbit in the motion picture “8 Mile” and start rap battling them right there. YOU WENT TO CRANBROOK, THAT’S A PRIVATE SCHOOL.

But I digress.

Working out blows. But since I was highly motivated (see fig. 1.0), I went to great lengths to find a workout that worked out for me. I tried nearly every form of exercise in the greater classygallie area. Here are my reviews of each.

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CrossFit

A girl I went to high school with opened up a CrossFit gym in the town over from mine. I ran into her at the grocery store and she looked exactly like she did in high school except younger and fitter and more beautiful??? Meanwhile SHE DIDN’T RECOGNIZE ME.

No one recognizes me. When my oldest was a year old I took him to a baby swim class and a guy I’d known throughout all of school was there. I mean, I remember when he puked on the carpet in kindergarten because he took too big a bite of apple. We took the SATs together and this m-effer sniffled for the entire 3+ hours. I recognized him the second I saw the back of his head. “Oh look, it’s [name redacted]! Still has those lil bald patches from when he got his moles removed back in 1998!” Meanwhile he had no forking clue who I was.

Anyway, my former classmate at the grocery store eventually remembered me and she told me about her gym and suggested I try it out. So I did! I tried it out. I signed up for a 5am workout of the day.

OF COURSE IT WAS A MISTAKE. Jumping back into working out after three babies and six or so years with Crossfit is not the move. They pair you up too, and you’re basically competing against the other duos to see who can do the most reps. I hate teamwork, I hate competition, and sadly, I hate Crossfit. Plus I effed up my wrist and my thumb. 0/10.

Barre

I don’t know how to describe barre. There’s a ballet bar and they make you do teeny tiny movements that cramp my hips so, so bad. I flat out cannot do half the movements because some mechanical malfunction in my hips simply won’t allow it. Except for that, it’s fine. 5/10.

Trampoline barre

For my second class at the barre studio, I accidentally signed up for a trampoline class. I showed up and they asked me if I had grippy socks and I was like, oh why? They then showed me the six little trampolines set up in the studio. It turned out to be pretty fun, and my one complaint is that I was the only one whose trampoline kept on hitting the floor. How silly that I happened to select the only faulty trampoline! 7/10.

Pickup basketball

If you knew me in high school you knew I balled pretty hard. No, just kidding. See above: I hate teamwork and competition. But I still kinda like basketball. There’s an elementary school near me that does women’s pickup basketball on Wednesday evenings, so I tried it out. It was fun however I was terrified I was going to get hurt. Plus it was from 7 to 9 at night and that’s midnight to me. 6/10.

Group fitness at a local gym

These were 45 minutes of HIIT style classes. They went by fast, which I liked. I also liked that a random lady held me back after class once and told me all about how her daughter was pissed at her for cheating with her remarried ex-husband. Does that make sense? She got divorced, her ex got remarried, and then they started an affair. I love a good human-interest story (aka gossip). What I didn’t love though was that the gym membership was $49/week. What kind of Jeffrey Bezos bullshit is that! 5/10.

Jogging/biking on the streets

On one of my bike rides, I called to three tom turkeys and got them to gobble at me FOUR TIMES! Talk about a boost of confidence! 7/10.

Tennis lessons

I signed up for an adult ed “learn to play tennis” course through my town. I’m bad. Like, swing-and-completely-miss-the-ball bad. During a match the other day, I accidentally hit myself in the head with my own racket and knocked off my sunglasses. Gave myself the giggles because of it. I LOVE getting the giggles. 10/10.

Online yoga classes

One of my daughter’s teachers is also a yoga instructor and offers online classes. I used to go to different yoga studios before kids, but those classes were too long and it was embarrassing when I’d inevitably start queefing. These online ones are 30 to 45 minutes and over Zoom and they’re great. I usually keep my camera off but will turn it on after class to let my daughter say hi to her teacher. The first time I did this, I didn’t realize that Curtis was shirtless and in full view of the camera. He had to grab our dog to cover himself up. So it was just me chatting away while Curtis sat behind me, visible to a whole yoga class, half-naked and desperately hugging a dog. I laughed so much when I finally realized it. 10/10.

Driveway basketball

We got our driveway paved last summer so as soon as spring hit this year, we was like, time for a b-ball hoop! Curtis and I play one-on-one now, which may sound ridiculous but HEY IT’S EXERCISE OK! And it helps me keep track of my #bodygoals because every time I crumple to the pavement in pain cause I’ve hurt myself, Curtis outlines my body in chalk to make fun of how dramatic I am. SHE’S STILL A PEA HEAD, FOLKS!!! 10/10.

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In conclusion, I did lose like 12 pounds in six months. But only because I got norovirus in March and peed poopfire out of my butt for three days straight then got a colonoscopy and did the same thing all over again. 0/10, and my head’s still small.

*I didn’t actually start working out because I look like a pea on a pickle, I hope you know that. I just feel old and rickety and “they” say exercise is good for that. I’ll be a dill pickle foreva idgaf.

I can’t go to Starbucks anymore

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STARBUCKS! People love Starbucks. Me? I like it. Not bad. Some of their mocha-y shits make my belly hurt and give me that nasty tooth fuzz feeling but overall, yeah they’re pretty good. Decaf iced latte with extra sugar here, iced chai tea there. I fuxs with them.

The last time I went to Starbucks was on Christmas Eve. My li’l fam was headed up to my sister’s house to spend the day, and my mans and I wanted some pick-me-ups on the way. The drive-thru line was insane, total fuckin’ loserville—

Oh wait, a brief digression: A few months ago, I was in a long drive-thru line at Dunkin’ Donuts. While idling in my enormous dumbass van, a man with long luscious brown hair and wearing a sleeveless T-shirt rode up on his bike (that looked like a chopper motorcycle) and started doing circles around the drive-thru line. My windows were down because it was nice out, and I heard him shouting, “LOOK AT THIS FUCKIN’ LOSERVILLE! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?” And now I will forever call drive-thru lines “fucking loservilles” because dude was clearly unhinged but also 1000% spot-on, what the fuck was we doing?!??)

OK back to the Christmas Eve story. We weren’t going to sit in Starbucks loserville, so I told Dirt (that’s my husband’s name, Dirt) to pop into the lot and I’d run in, order our drinks in person, and save us some time. Dirt did. I ran in. I ordered our drinks in person. But I did not save us any time.

Turns out that if a drive-thru line is very long, and it’s Christmas Eve in a big ass shopping development, ordering in person at Starbucks will take forever, too. And it’s far worse than sitting in loserville because—rather than breathing in your own germs, in the comfort of your own car—you’re breathing in strangers’ germs, in the discomfort of a poorly ventilated strip mall Starbucks.

No, who knows, maybe their ventilation is freaking sweet. Could be. Still, there were a bunch of maskless people in there, and who wants covid for Christmas?? Surely not I. I got the impression people were waiting about 20-30 minutes for their orders, so I stepped outside to wait for mine.

There was only one other person waiting for their order, a lady in a mask who looked to be about my age. A kindred spirit! I made conversation.

Me, feigning exasperation: Whoa, crazy in there, huh? What’s up?

Her: Yeah, nuts!

Me: Finishing up some last minute Chwis—uh, Christmas shopping?

Her: No, I finished mine over the summer. I had twins a week ago, so I knew I’d need to get my shopping done early.

Y’ALL! YOU ALL! ALL OF YOU! This woman was out in the world a mere seven days after giving birth to two children! And she was a first-time mom! Homegirl really popped two humans out her belly, brought ’em home, and was already out living her life, drinking Starbucks and everything!!!

When I first became a mom, it was only to one sweet, squealing mandrake, and I still didn’t leave the crib for weeks. Pachinko was torn up, butthole was inside out, body was sleep deprived and amped up on hormones. You might be thinking “Oh blah blah blah cry me river! Tired new mom, tale as old as time, thank u next!” Well, if so, then middle finger to you and your hatin’ ass. Becoming a parent is intense as hell. Except for this ho, I guess.

We chatted some more and she told me that breastfeeding was the hardest part so far because her milk hadn’t fully come in yet. Then I got an idea.

An awful idea.

Mama Mungus got a wonderful, awful idea.

Her: And you know, there’s two of them, so I need double the milk.

Me: Ugh, yeah that must be wicked hard. Well—if you want it—I have a bunch of milk in my freezer. My daughter won’t really take bottles, so I haven’t used anything I’ve pumped. It’s yours for the taking!

And that was it. The conversation stopped. Neither of us said another word.

I can’t imagine why. Perhaps because I HAD JUST OFFERED A COMPLETE STRANGER FROZEN BAGS OF MY OWN BODILY FLUIDS. ON CHRISTMAS EVE.

HO, HO, HO, MERRY CHRISTMAS! HERE’S SOME MAMMARY MILK I PUMPED OUT MY TIDDIES AND FROZE IN PLASTIC BAGS AND SLIPPED UNDER YOUR CHRISTMAS TREE. GOD REST YE MERRY GENTLEMEN!!!!!!

Hemming and hawing

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I wasn’t going to write about my pregnancy hemorrhoids but then “hemming and hawing” came to me this morning and I thought, who am I to deny fate? So here’s a post about my butthole.

If I had to choose a theme song for the past couple of months, it would be Busta Rhyme’s Light Your Ass on Fire. That is because MY ASS HAS BEEN ON FIRE for the past couple of months.

I’ve had mild hemorrhoids for most of my adult life. Who hasn’t? An itch here, a smear of blood there, big deal! A few years ago I made an appointment to go to the doctor’s because I had this weird bump on my knee where I’d gotten hit with a softball. (I don’t play softball—I was just helping a friend so her team didn’t have to forfeit a game. What a bad, bad sport grown-up softball is. Softballs ain’t soft! Out-of-shape adults have no business hitting and throwing hard ass balls at each other!) Anyway, I made an appointment and my doctor wasn’t available so I had to see a different one, Dr. H.

Dr. H was the coolest. She was the doctor for an Olympic-gold-medal-winning team, and so nice, and so helpful. SO helpful indeed, that after she ultrasounded my knee and confirmed it was a clump of scar tissue or something from getting hit from that piece of shit softball!!!!, she asked if I needed help with anything else. I was in the middle of a bloody b-hole bout, so I decided to bring it up.

Me: Now that you ask… I think I have a hemorrhoid but I’m not 100% sure.

Dr. H: Well your uncertainty is easily remedied! Roll on over and pull down them pants.

Me: Oh.

I rolled over and pulled down my pants.

Me: Aghh this is really gross. I am so, so sorry.

Dr. H: I know, this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. But I look at buttholes all the time, doesn’t even faze me. Yup, congratulations. You have a hemorrhoid!

And that was the extent of it. At my next checkup, my primary care doctor saw it on my chart and brought it up. For some reason I thought he might want to take a gander at it too? I asked him and he politely declined. HAHAHAHA of course he did. Being a doctor must suck.

Since then, I’ve lived in a happy state of mild hemmy flare-ups. Until I started having kids.

After giving birth to my son my undercarriage was in, um, some disarray. There were tears and rips and stitches and things even the doctors didn’t recognize, along with some popped hemorrhoids. To say I was uncomfortable would be an understatement.

I always assumed it was all pachinkal related—the tears and whatnot. NOT SO! That was all hemorrhoidal, my friends! I now know that because I popped a humungous hemorrhoid a couple months ago and my downstairs felt the same as it did post-birth. My god. Who knew a throbbing purple grape coming out of your butt could cause so much agony?! I was nearly incrapacitated.

I was sure it wouldn’t go away until after I give birth, but it only took a week and a decent amount of blood loss before it started feeling somewhat normal. I believe the grape has shrunk and just become part of my b-hole topography. I’ve since popped another, smaller hemorrhoid that isn’t nearly as painful, but still requires careful treatment.

My treatment plan, which is the same advice you read/hear everywhere:

A few times a day (certainly after any pooping takes place), soak butt in hot water for 10ish minutes
After soaking, fold a soft ice pack in half then stick in buttcrack, between pants and underpants
After icing, stick a witch hazel pad in buttcrack and leave it for a while

I don’t mess with Preparation H because I’ve used it before and don’t notice that it does anything, and it’s gross to apply.

Happy hemorrhoiding!

P.S. I FaceTimed my mom before posting this to ask if it was too gross to talk about hemorrhoids, and she was outside and her 65-year-old friend/neighbor heard me and said “I GET ‘EM TOO, THEY’RE NO FUN.”