Welcome, baby! And hey: don't worry about turning your mama's undercarriage into a plateful of uncooked ground beef. Worry more about what you've done to her brain.

The phone rings at supper and so it must be one of two things: a telemarketer or a juicy piece of news. Because you don't call at supper. You just don't, unless you've got something to sell or something to report.

"Oooh!" I jump from the table. "Baby!"

It's my mother, reporting, and I was right. I ask about a name and she says, "Not yet. But he had a 64-inch head."

Okay, so fine. It might have been a thirty-three inch head or a twenty-nine inch head. Or something. Doesn't matter. The point is that at this point in his life, measured in hours, he is known for his arrival and the size of his skull and nothing else, not yet.

+++

"A sitz bath."

She'd stared blankly at me, and he did too, like how Frodo stares blankly at Aragorn when Aragorn offers to accompany him to the fires of Mount Doom. THEY ARE AT THE VERY BRINK OF THE FELLOWSHIP AND THEY HAVE NO IDEA and OH MY GOD THEY'RE SO CUTE IN ALL THEIR UNKNOWINGNESS. We smiled in that terribly condescending way but the universe self-balances and so they'll smile just like that at someone else, someday. They'd said We think we have everything we need but we're not sure and there was that inquiring sort of silence, or at least I read it as inquiring, because I was going to tell them what I thought they needed and I'd wanted to remember it as the moment they asked.

And so I said You'll need a sitz bath. It's plastic and it might be blue, or maybe green, and you get one at those pharmacies that sells motorized chairs and big black shoes and diabetic blood testers and it sits on your toilet and sploshes over into the toilet. And you put epsom salts in it. Lots and lots of epsom salts.

They'd stared blankly.

"It's for your beef."

They still stared blankly and at that moment, I wondered what would have happened to Frodo's consent if Aragorn had told him, beforehand, about the orcs of Sauron and the gate of Mordor and that enchanted pond that swallows the souls of dead elves and stuff.

They still stared blankly and I thought about the truth and the point of sharing it.

THE TRUTH: Look. When I had Evan, they cut me and then I tore open from my chin to the nape of my neck. ON THE OTHER SIDE OF MY BODY. I vivisected myself except it wasn't nearly as fun as being a lobster because when you're a vivisected lobster, they scrape out all your guts and then they mix your guts with mayonnaise and freshly-squeezed lemon juice and then they squish it all back inside your shell with a side salad and a cloud biscuit and then, when they bring you to the table, everybody goes OOOOH and AAAAH and from somewhere outside of Paris, the ghost of Julia Child approves of everything except the parsley.

THE POINT OF SHARING IT: Look. I didn't know I was vivisecting myself even as I was vivisecting myself. It's just all metaphorical and literal pressure and it doesn't matter the setting: fluorescent bulbs and masked figures or bongos and candlelight, you can't feel a thing beyond the need to cross this damn bridge. To get over it to the other side. Your own vivisection is kinda beside the point. And so you vivisect and then somebody whisks in between your legs but you're busy crying, because there's a squishy purple creature who's crying too, and kicking, at least generally speaking. And at some point you wonder What are they doing down there? I'm fine. It's done. And you say those words and the masked figure between your legs, without looking up, responds from behind blue paper in an overly cheerful falsetto. Everything's wonderful! Good job! Good job! Good job! Just a little stitch and oh! Look over there! It's A BABY! And you are enraptured and relieved and so you look over there and whimper Oh my god, we made that squishy purple creature and someday, that squishy purple creature is going to piss on your floor and then point at the piss, and then point at you, and then giggle. And you'll giggle back.

And vivisection will be ancient history, even that soon.

Right after, people will tell you JUST DON'T LOOK DOWN like in the movies and, like in the movies, you'll disobey. You'll look down and even worse, you'll get a mirror. Even worse, you'll see it and touch it at the same time. And IT'LL TALK BACK TO YOU IN A VOICE THAT SOUNDS LIKE A RINGWRAITH.

And you feel like you'll never, ever be pretty between your legs ever again.

But you will be.

THE TRUTH, SUMMED UP: For a little while, you'll feel weird.

THE POINT OF SHARING IT, SUMMED UP: Then you won't.

+++

"Mommy, you a-kiss me on my eye. How come you a-kiss me on my eye?"

"Because I love every little bit of you. Even your eye."

Ben thinks about this. Then through the dark I can his teeth, beaming, and I realize: stitches can't reverse this kind of tearing-open, beef or belly. Doesn't matter. Every day they make me shout and they make me whisper and they make me claustrophobic and they make me whine for snuggles and they shove elbows into soft spots and they make me dance in the kitchen when I don't feel like dancing in the kitchen. Every day they pry the wound open again because they don't care about pretty. They want better. Better! More! Like That! Now!

Being better stings. Better means being more than yourself. So make being better, better. Wash it down with a peach-banana Yop and a bendy straw. Don't think about it too much. And don't forget to soak your butt.

And that's all you need to know.

Comments

[Sally]

This post had me smiling from one side of my body, all the way to the other. No stitches needed though thankfully! A great piece of writing.

[Dana]

Should I tell you now that I'm in love with this post? Yes. I think I should. I'm in love... with this post. Especially this:
"Every day they pry the wound open again because they don't care about pretty. They want better. Better! More! Like That! Now!"

[deb]

wow.
exactly . exactly.
wow.

[Bon]

five years ago tonight i tore just like that. and mah beef, just now, it froze and quaked and shivered all the way up to my ears in sympathy with yours, in body memory. this post needs a PTSD warning.

then the destroyer bopped into the room with his snot-covered hands and hugged me and all was restored.

resilience.

[Alison]

Remember how I left that first time and nearly left my handbag (complete with passport and wallet) in the backseat of your car and it was bitterly cold (at least for someone who had only been in North America for 2 weeks after a brutally hot summer) and so I jumped and put my hands in my sleeves and then hugged you and all I could think to say was "you. are. so. cool".

This, much the same. So many things in this post make me feel cold and rushed and unprepared (not that I need to be, for quite some time). I have no idea what to say except for: you. are. SO. cool.

[Quadelle]

My first rearranged my bits almost as much as she's rearranged my whole life. It took a somewhat ironic 9 months for the doctors to get everything more or less back in order afterward. But because getting her took six years I pretty much didn't care about the clean up phase. She was here. She was well. Who cared if I was chop suey? It all sorts itself out eventually. And then you're left with one of those stories that you avoid telling women who are in their first pregnancy, but share willingly with women who've been there, done that because you know they'll get it: that it's worth it.

[hodgepodge]

This is one of your best, I think. But you do know that now your comments will be flooded with people wanting to tell their own ground beef stories, right? Right.

I didn't know what a sitz bath was. I remember the nurse telling me I'd need one and nodding all knowledgeably like I totally did, but I was completely baffled. Had to ask my mom. And then I burst into tears because HOW COULD SOMEONE WHO DOESN'T KNOW ABOUT A SITZ BATH POSSIBLY LOOK AFTER ANOTHER HUMAN BEING?

Yeah. It worked out. And I never did buy a sitz bath.

[jen]

oh god.

and just like that, my hunger for a child? gone. haha! great writing. you make me laugh and cringe all at the same time.

[Hanna]

I don't normally comment here. I lurked a lot before I got pregnant with my identical twin boys. After that I could only take frightened peaks at what you had to say. But I eventually got past the NICU and the children's hospital and started to feel confident both my boys were here to stay. And your photos lured me back in.

Which is a long-winded preamble to saying: You are on some kind of roll! Your last three posts have been brilliant. You're a woman of uncommon talents. Thanks for sharing.

[thepsychobabble]

Wound prying=too true, too true.

[Hammy]

Before I had my first son, I attended the baby shower for a friend of mine. We were both pregnant, but she was due four weeks ahead of me.

As a gift, someone gave her a "first aid kit" which included maxi pads, hemmoroid cream, Tucks wipes and a small spray bottle. I remember thinking "what's that for?" and then abruptly realizing "uh oh".

I hadn't given much thought to the aftermath of childbirth, obviously.

Second son is six weeks old (today!); and my parts doth quiver in sympathetic vibration with this post. <sigh>

[sweetsalty kate]

Jen: I didn't mean to turn you off motherhood. Just like I didn't mean to turn my friend off it either. Gore stories aren't helpful for women about to give birth - but there's a reason why they feel so instinctual to share. Because we're okay now. Somehow that's what you want to express - that all the stuff you're scared of - it doesn't end up being what you thought it would be. It's no biggie. And stuff heals. And god, a sitz bath is the shit. Hannah, you missed out.

Hanna, I'm glad you made it, and yeah, I can imagine this place would unsettle you, if you're looking for perspective on identical twins. But you made it! I'm happy for you, and I'm glad you came back in this direction. And that's very kind.

Bon, happy fifth beefday! (sorry. couldn't resist. my PTSD apologizes to your PTSD) xo

[afteriris]

This post is all kinds of brilliant, Kate.

[palinode]

Great, Kate. NOW I'M ALL HUNGRY.

[Corinna]

Kate, this piece of writing is brilliant and gorgeous and astute. My beef ended up not getting too ground on account of the giant skull, but he still splits me open every day, even mornings like this one in which I'm pretty sure he's possessed by some toddler devil.

Thank you for sharing your brilliance with us.

[Leah]

Thank you for this.

They don't care about pretty, it's true. So true.

[Neil]

Better than Dr. Spock, or whoever mothers read now for advice.

Also made me glad to be a man.

[Jenn]

"Being better stings"...and yesterday I felt I was going into anaphylactic shock from all the stinging. I wonder if my boys will ever experience this type of wonder...is it strictly just a momma thing? If so, kinda makes me sad for them and kinda makes me sad for me that I won't be able to share in this experience with a daughter. Stings, either way...
And yes, all they want is to be with you, pee and all. I think the biggest compliment I get from my dudes is--Momma, I just want to stay home with you today--. A very effective balm for those stings.

[Emily of Deutschland]

Kate, I just had a c-section two weeks ago, and am sitting here with my son in my arms, thankful for this post. It's reminded me that trama sustained is not exclusively a bad thing. In some cases, it is so mixed up with good, rich, belly-filling wine it may as well be just as much a tumble through goose-down pillows as a rip through yer innards.

Thanks. It was good timing, this post.

[Brittany]

omg i just died. laughing.

[Eve]

Hot DOG. Having only had c-sections, I am morbidly fascinated with the birth demolition and refurbishing of the girly bits. GAH. I'm in awe of all of you birthing super hero goddesses. sitz baths all around- on me!
Great post.

[mamie]

well, i am kinda glad i didn't have to soak my beef. i did have to pack and unpack my tunneling csection wound so i guess that might be the not so pretty part. i love how you do that, kate, take words other people use everyday, toss about really, and then you shape them into sage and wonderful words that are the only ones i will ever listen to when it comes to parenting. (well, you and bon)(this may be in part because you are the only blogs i read lately).

love you, woman.

also, i think one of my favorite things is the look i feel that i can give my soon to be parent siblings/friends. it makes me feel cool. now I can add the 'soak your beef' part too.

[William]

My wife called it FrankenGina for a good 6 months after our 2nd.

[mosey]

No one told me about the sitz bath. I missed out and I'm bitter. Someone DID tell me to use witch hazel wipes which stung like a mother. I'm bitter about that too.

Thanks for bringing that all back for me.

[Anngeedee]

Of course it's all true. And I love that you got to use vivisect in this post.

[Ggirl]

I've recently found you and have dipped in to read your words in the run up to the birth of my son, Leo, who clocked 3 weeks old yesterday. Your post touches nerves and souls and it talks the talk of a thousand women. Thank you.

[TItanium]

72 stitches. That's what it took to put the ground beef back together. It's been eleven years and reading this made the scars pucker. Kate, this is searingly brilliant.

They don't tell you this stuff in the happy-happy-joy-joy birthing classes.

[EarnestGirl]

I love you for your truths. And the way you tell them.

(you make me feel like chicken not beef for though I talk the talk, this is one around which I have pussyfooted for fear of frightening the not-yet mothers. i looked, mother in heaven help me, I, three-hours-fully-crowned, looked. and still it was worth it.)

Stiz baths & truthing. Glory be.

[Kat]

me!

http://toloveeverymoment.blogspot.com/2011/04/some-blog-love.html

[Kat]

Ahhh the first part of my comment got deleted!

What I meant to say was...
I love coming here! You truly inspire me!
So I awarded your blog today:
http://toloveeverymoment.blogspot.com/2011/04/some-blog-love.html

[muskrat]

This story is making me reconsider the sex change plans I had.

[If By Yes]

I didn't get a sitz bath. It was some kind of oversight. Apparently they were supposed to give me one at the hospital and they didn't! So I got a bunch of epsom salts and dumped them in the tub and sat in them.

Ow.

[Leah]

You.... Are. So. Damn. Eloquent!!!!
I love reading. And saying "Yes! Yes!" I feel the exact same way!! And "How does know to put words together that way?"
Wishing I had your talent... :-)

[Deer Baby]

This says it all. Everything.

[Kara]

This is wonderful writing and wonderful to read. You had me smiling and cringing at the same time. I love your humour and your honesty - although I might not be able to get the image of a 'talking Ringwraith" out of my head for a while.

[Gal]

LOVE THIS!

[Heather]

Thank you. This is how I felt after my hysterectomy- I'll never be pretty again and stitches can't reverse this kind of tearing open. Thank you for giving me those words. It's been 2 years and I'm healing slowly.

[angelica]

beautifully put. this should be on every mom to be manual. mommma 101. cause it would have been nice to know about the beef....

[red pen mama]

oh, goodness, I'm sorry, Kate, but I giggled with my hands over my mouth all through this.

[alexandra]

LOVED THIS POST.

Followed you home from your BlogHer submission.

This was so great, Nothing is ever the same again, is it?

[Hillary @ The Mama Review]

I laughed reading the comment saying this post should come with a PTSD warning. This filled me with uneasy laughter and chills remembering when I tore from chin to neck.