A small personal milestone

Or, more accurately milestoneS.

I can finally, FINALLY fit the girls back into my pre-pregnancy bras. Which are, to be fair, still size 34 effing DD, but at least they are not the 38Gs I was dealing with during the Dark Days of Breastfeeding. I could wear those things on my head.

On a somewhat-related note, I am also currently wearing a pair of size 8 jeans, a feat which I haven't accomplished since well into the last presidential administration.

I'm actually feeling a little bit -- juuuuuust a little bit -- hot. Like I could flirt with the cute guy in the coffee place downstairs and he wouldn't gag.

I'm sure it won't last, but for today, I'll take it.

Happy Friday, everyone!

Happy new year!

Apologies for being so delinquent in posting here and commenting on your blogs....it's been, unsurprisingly, a very busy week.

I have been riding the emotional roller coaster. Like, I love the chicklette to death, but sometimes I'll just start crying for no reason. I know it's the hormones, and the fact that I'm sleep-deprived and recovering from, you know, CHILDBIRTH, but it still catches me by surprise how I can go from perfectly happy and content to a snorting mess inside of 5 minutes.

I have every intention of getting my birth story up soon -- before I forget what happened completely -- but for now, just a few random observations:

1. My favorite time(s) of the day are when the chicklette is awake and alert. I look in her eyes and the whole world just stops. Stupid baby songs spontaneously erupt from my mouth.

2. Baby gas is really funny. Sometimes you can hear her toot all the way across the house, and it's effing hilarious. Even if she does smell like a sulfur factory.

3. It's so nice to be able to see my feet again.

4. Pooping for the first time was so much more stressful than giving birth. And still I battle, as I sit here eating a bran muffin and drinking coffee. (You really didn't think I could get through a post without talking about poop, did you?)

5. Being out in public not pregnant is WEIRD. No one smiles at me anymore. I'm sure when I'm out with the baby it will be different, but I kind of miss the attention. The same attention I hated when I was pregnant. I tells ya, there's no pleasing me these days.

6. Confession: I went to Babies R' Us on Monday and parked in the "Stork Parking." I won't do it again, particularly now that my stitches feel better and I can walk somewhat normally, but it felt deliciously subversive.

7. Breastfeeding is hard. I'm sure I'll have much more on this later, but it confounds me that something supposedly so natural can be so difficult.

And speaking of, I'm off to wake the baby with a a diaper change (which, in case you didn't know, is apparently CHILD ABUSE judging by the amount of screaming it induces) and whip out the boobs. Which are taking over the world.

Happy new year!

Wardrobe malfunction

I think that the boob fairy must have paid a visit to our house last night. Seriously -- I was 45 minutes late today because everything I put on this morning made me look like Dolly effing Parton. (Not that I have anything against Dolly.)

I was not exactly a flat-chested girl to begin with. I started this whole infertility journey as a 34C, then grew to a 34DD via some combination of weight gain and meds. Midway through my IVF cycle, I could barely latch my bra and bought a couple of 34DDDs. And today, just about two weeks later, I am sporting the dreaded quadra-boob. (For those of you not familiar with quadra-boob, it is the phenomenon by which a too-large boob spills over a too-small cup, creating an oh-so attractive four-lumpy-boob look).

And it's not just the size. The girls HURT. It's gotten so bad that I've started wearing a sports bra to bed, because the pain of these suckers flapping around in the middle of the night actually woke me up a couple of times. Also, I am afraid of suffocating a cat under one of my loose, giant knockers.

So, here I am. Five weeks in, and my husband is already referring to the girls as "melons" (lovingly, of course -- he is a guy, after all).

My cups runneth over.

And under.