Feeling Farty
Okay, you've read the above subject line and are afraid to open this window. I don't blame you, who wants to read yet another ode to baby gas? Surely my daughter has gas, I'll stand her up in a room full of people and watch as she grins athletically while she expels a fart that sounds like an erupting Mount Vesuvius. But that's not what this piece is about, no my daughter's gas is to be expected, is bearable and surprisingly, it's odor free. No this is an ode to the odor that surrounds my poor baby's mama. Yes, one of the things no one tells you about a c-section is that after they cut your stomach open, for weeks on end, yes you too can have killer gas.
I've just lost the few friends I have who've been reading this blog. They tuned in today expecting me to complete the lovely, violin-infused story of my daughter's birth. I hoped to write that today but a particularly smelly ride in a Babies 'R Us elevator, inspired me to go where most writers won't because they have more class than I do. I've always been accused of conveying "Too Much Information" and today I'm keeping up my end of that bargain. Today I'll enlighten you on one aspect of post-partum living that hasn't been covered yet, can drive the new mother crazy, and definitely affects everyone around her.
Go to one of the popular pregnancy and post-partum websites, as I have, to find out the cause of this gas and you'll find surprisingly little information. I know this because I've looked, I've wondered, I've tried to find out when this smelly scourge will end. I can only find scant information about how after a c-sections they won't release you from the hospital until you pass gas. Great, no problem there. In fact, most information about life after a c-section is centered on what you experience the day after the surgery. If you gauge your experience by the information you'll read, you'd expect to be completely cured by the time you leave the hospital. Oh, there will be some bleeding, you might have a hemorroid or two, but in a few weeks you'll be exactly as you were before. Great, you must think while reading a post-partum information kit. Can't wait to have that baby and snap right back to normal.
Regarding c-sections, one of my friends is fond of saying, "You get to keep your vagina." Okay, so you might not be stretched to accommodate something the size of a football but your once clean scent will be replaced by a not so fresh feeling. And by the way, my first postnatal sexual experience was more painful than the contractions. If C reads this, he'll be afraid to have sex with me again but that's okay. If he reads this entry he's not going to want to "do it" with me anyway.
Poor C. I'll be holding the baby and he'll start sniffing the air, then rip the baby from my arms and run to the changing station. You'd think after this drama plays out, night after night, with a clean diaper the usual result, he'd realize the source of that stink. Perhaps he thinks there's no way some one of my dress and demeanor could crank them out like any every day plumber. The poor guy, it's been over 2 1/2 months and I'm still as farty as ever. I posted on Urban Baby and found out this is a common occurrance. One woman wrote back and said she'd passed some terrible gas in the hospital and the nurse thought it was the baby. Like C, this woman's husband rushed to rescue his newborn from the plague of a dirty diaper. Like C, this man was stunned to find his baby's diaper poop free. This random woman assurred me the gas would go away but I never found out when.
On the enormous elevator at Babies 'R Us, I was so grateful to be alone. As I felt this elevator, large enough to carry a small Uhaul, inch its way to second floor, I feared the moment the doors opened. Surely a harried Mom with wild hair and a sleep deprived look of desperation would be waiting alongside a boisterous, active toddler. Perhaps she'd smile politely at me as she ushered her child into the elevator, then cringe when she got wind (pardon the pun) of what could only be some kind of toxic chemical disaster. Never has the grade school phrase "Silent, but deadly" been so aptly appropriate. Relief flooded through me when the doors sliced open and no one was there.
Unfortunately, in the taxi, just me and the driver, he knew he wasn't the one cutting loose. I watched his nose scrunch up and his eyes peer back at me via the rear view mirror. I squiggled aside on the seat so he couldn't look at me. A longer look and he might be able to identify me at a later date and speed on by on a day when I really need a taxi. I can see him telling his friends at the cab stand about me. "Cute girl, big smell."
I'd much rather be like David Sedaris and write about a entering a bathroom at a party to encounter a large turd that wasn't mine. Unfortunately, for now, when I leave elevators or bathrooms or taxis or just about any room, a stench trails me like that vibrating cloud that wafts around Pigpen in the Peanuts cartoons.
I've just lost the few friends I have who've been reading this blog. They tuned in today expecting me to complete the lovely, violin-infused story of my daughter's birth. I hoped to write that today but a particularly smelly ride in a Babies 'R Us elevator, inspired me to go where most writers won't because they have more class than I do. I've always been accused of conveying "Too Much Information" and today I'm keeping up my end of that bargain. Today I'll enlighten you on one aspect of post-partum living that hasn't been covered yet, can drive the new mother crazy, and definitely affects everyone around her.
Go to one of the popular pregnancy and post-partum websites, as I have, to find out the cause of this gas and you'll find surprisingly little information. I know this because I've looked, I've wondered, I've tried to find out when this smelly scourge will end. I can only find scant information about how after a c-sections they won't release you from the hospital until you pass gas. Great, no problem there. In fact, most information about life after a c-section is centered on what you experience the day after the surgery. If you gauge your experience by the information you'll read, you'd expect to be completely cured by the time you leave the hospital. Oh, there will be some bleeding, you might have a hemorroid or two, but in a few weeks you'll be exactly as you were before. Great, you must think while reading a post-partum information kit. Can't wait to have that baby and snap right back to normal.
Regarding c-sections, one of my friends is fond of saying, "You get to keep your vagina." Okay, so you might not be stretched to accommodate something the size of a football but your once clean scent will be replaced by a not so fresh feeling. And by the way, my first postnatal sexual experience was more painful than the contractions. If C reads this, he'll be afraid to have sex with me again but that's okay. If he reads this entry he's not going to want to "do it" with me anyway.
Poor C. I'll be holding the baby and he'll start sniffing the air, then rip the baby from my arms and run to the changing station. You'd think after this drama plays out, night after night, with a clean diaper the usual result, he'd realize the source of that stink. Perhaps he thinks there's no way some one of my dress and demeanor could crank them out like any every day plumber. The poor guy, it's been over 2 1/2 months and I'm still as farty as ever. I posted on Urban Baby and found out this is a common occurrance. One woman wrote back and said she'd passed some terrible gas in the hospital and the nurse thought it was the baby. Like C, this woman's husband rushed to rescue his newborn from the plague of a dirty diaper. Like C, this man was stunned to find his baby's diaper poop free. This random woman assurred me the gas would go away but I never found out when.
On the enormous elevator at Babies 'R Us, I was so grateful to be alone. As I felt this elevator, large enough to carry a small Uhaul, inch its way to second floor, I feared the moment the doors opened. Surely a harried Mom with wild hair and a sleep deprived look of desperation would be waiting alongside a boisterous, active toddler. Perhaps she'd smile politely at me as she ushered her child into the elevator, then cringe when she got wind (pardon the pun) of what could only be some kind of toxic chemical disaster. Never has the grade school phrase "Silent, but deadly" been so aptly appropriate. Relief flooded through me when the doors sliced open and no one was there.
Unfortunately, in the taxi, just me and the driver, he knew he wasn't the one cutting loose. I watched his nose scrunch up and his eyes peer back at me via the rear view mirror. I squiggled aside on the seat so he couldn't look at me. A longer look and he might be able to identify me at a later date and speed on by on a day when I really need a taxi. I can see him telling his friends at the cab stand about me. "Cute girl, big smell."
I'd much rather be like David Sedaris and write about a entering a bathroom at a party to encounter a large turd that wasn't mine. Unfortunately, for now, when I leave elevators or bathrooms or taxis or just about any room, a stench trails me like that vibrating cloud that wafts around Pigpen in the Peanuts cartoons.
posted by Litgirl Mama at 12:36 PM
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