Have I showered or changed my pj's . . . cannot confirm. Normally a size A cup, I am giving Kate Upton a run for her money. What’s more, these puppies are ON FIRE, and I still don’t know how to bloody use them. Show me that breastfeeding video one last time, and I will tear the television from the wall socket — it is not helping. Everything leaks. I mean, EVERYTHING. I am a mess of body fluid. I am wearing not one but two enormous maternity pads, inside granny panties to try and contain the postpartum bleeding. Golf-ball-sized blood clots keep coming out. I have to keep these to be inspected and make sure it is not part of the placenta. Where has my dignity gone?
Sleep . . . I could count the hours on one hand but am just too beyond exhausted to remember. My body is experiencing a horrendous hormone withdrawal. Is this what drug addicts feel like? Maybe drugs would help right now . . . My eyes just keep leaking. I am more prepared for this second time around. First time, I just could not understand why I would not stop crying. The cherry on the Sunday is that precious little bundle WON'T STOP SCREAMING (don’t let the photographs fool you). You want to come and visit? Sure, let’s have a tea party while we are at it.
