Category Archives: pregnancy

I can’t go to Starbucks anymore

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.



Hemming and hawing

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.”