[File Under: SO NO WAY!: I have been nominated for "Best Parenting Weblog" this year in the Eleventh Annual Weblog Awards - yup, the Bloggies! Thing is, I have a great chance of winning because also nominated in this category is a little known blog called "The Pioneer Woman" and holy sheesh. Like anyone has heard of her? Ummmmm. Ok. Anyway, listen readers. I'd actually really really really love to win. And I do believe that The Pioneer Woman would love it if I won also, because she follows me on twitter (I'm boastful I'm sorry) and is nominated in 7,495 other categories so COME ON throw me a bone? Could you click here, scroll down to "Best Parenting Weblog" and click on Pistols + Popcorn? Then after that, keep on scrolling to the "Lifetime Achievement" category where my hotshot brother The Fat Cyclist is nominated and click on him. He deserves it. Thank you thank you thank you.]
I Have Officially Been Quit
You know how when you get into it with someone and you’re all, “I am officially done with you.” And you mean it? Because they have officially stretched you to your limit. Because they have officially stretched you past your limit, to where you’ve been torn, broken and are bursting?
Well that happened to me. I hate to air dirty laundry here, but I’m naming names. It’s happened between me, and my bellybutton.
You see, my bellybutton has officially quit me, it has thrown in the towel and is now refusing to do all the important things that bellybuttons do. True. One year ago, I wrote about a mystery surgery I was having, but held back on saying what it was. I had images of windfalls of cash raining down on me when the medical industry figured out how it had wronged me. And I didn’t want to screw that up by you know – publicizing it. Well, no windfall occurred. In fact not even a “Shux ma’m, we’re sorry.” So here’s where my bellybutton first became angry: when it was cut open to fish out an Intrauterine Device (IUD) which had been mistakenly placed in my abdomen and not…. eh…intrauterine. Seriously. Somehow some scalawag medical person had botched the procedure, then told me that it had disappeared, and then after one year and more than my share of wicked stomach aches, they found an IUD in my abdomen. Then a surgeon cut open my bellybutton and fished it out and that was that.
Then, a few months later, I became pregnant. The bellybutton was put on alert that it would be stretching, and stretch it did! All the way until I was six months along, when things got really dark, really fast, and that baby was lost to us. Sidenote: during the time we went through that struggle, I hesitated to name my son, as I knew I would never meet him. Roan recently named him Soren, and speaks about him often these days. He’s convinced that Soren is flying around, making his new twin brothers smile and I don’t think Roan’s wrong.
Then: another pregnancy! This time, twins. And my bellybutton, shaking in terror and anger, finally gave up. It was too much to ask, all within a year, and the guy packed up his bags and walked out on me. I don’t need you anyway, bellybutton, I thought.
I was so very wrong. After a consultation with a surgeon today, he has informed me that we’ve got to sew my guts back into place (ewwww….sorry….I’m a disgusting person, I know) and that unless I want some strangulation of my intestines (seriously, I know. I’m awful and hideous) we’d better do this sooner than later. And so. Because life isn’t quite hectic enough, it’s time for me to get some good time surgery yahooooo!
I wish I could just say, bellybutton, I’m sorry. I stretched you past your limit, you have been torn, broken and are bursting. Can’t we just go back to the way we were? But it’s too late. Sometimes apologies are not enough. Also, my surgeon asked me if I wanted to get a tummy tuck. ”Should I?” I asked. I mean, I hadn’t really thought about it. ”Just asking” he told me. What the? That’s not something you just ask people, is it? Then he told me he couldn’t do it anyway. And that my insurance won’t cover it. I mean. Honestly. I should have asked him if he had considered hair implants? But I just gave an, “eh…ok….” and now will trust this guy to sew some mesh between my abdomen muscles to replace the bellybutton that quit me.
Well it’s true. You don’t know what you’ve got ’till it’s gone. I challenge everyone today to embrace their functioning bellybutton today – this minute – and tell it how much you love it. Then go click on my name, and my brother’s name for the Bloggies and know that you’ve made the world a better place today.