Disclaimer: While I realize that I do, in fact, have quite a nice life, and when in better spirits, would even go so far as to call myself kind of blessed, I am in a shitty-ass mood today. And when I’m crabby? I reserve the right to bitch, moan and whine up a storm. So, if you’d rather not hear it, feel free to visit this site instead.
Last week, as you all know, I was lucky enough to have my second abdominal surgery in less than a year. And while this time, I was given four small incisions (as opposed to the six-inch monster that now decorates my bikini line), that did not make the process pain-free.
Quite the opposite, in fact. In fact, I think this “minimally invasive” surgery was worse than my C-section. Why? Well, because I wasn’t expecting this level of pain. In fact, my doctor told me that most people go back to work the next day after a procedure like the one I had. That’s right. The very next day.
Well, I’m here to tell you that my doctor is a liar, liar, pants on fire.
It was very painful, folks. And to make it worse? The painkiller I was on causes constipation. A fact I didn’t find out until I was crying hysterically in the bathroom (open abdominal wounds + constipation = torture), just like I was last April. So, yeah, my weekend sucked.
I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, then, that when Tori woke up crying with teething pain at 5:30 this morning, I was less than pleased. Especially since, recovered or not, I was scheduled to return to work (and its attendant deadlines) today.
And when I realized that the Gods of Menstrual Cycles hadn’t decided to spare me my regularly scheduled bout of PMS? I’m surprised Indiana didn’t suffer an earthquake brought on by the strength of my internalized screams.
Nevertheless, I got myself together, got Tori bundled in her car seat and got the business of paying my beloved daycare provider (I’m serious here, she really does rock and I feel very, very lucky to have her), out of the way. But when signing the check, it was all I could do not to sob out loud.
Sometimes, it’s very, very hard to pay someone else to live the life you wish you could lead.
And that, my friends, is also why it sucks to be a working mom, no matter how much you love your job.
Now, go visit my friend Kisha at In Through The Out Door and tell her what you would like to bitch and moan about today. Or, since you’re already here, you could just tell me…
And don’t forget to come back tomorrow. I’ll be doing my first book review—of Free Range Kids (and no, no one’s paying me to do so. I just happen to think it rocks). It will be whine-free, I promise.