The Armpit Boob and Other Surprises
I was the youngest child, avoided babysitting, and had maybe changed three diapers in my life before I got pregnant. My experience level with babies was probably less than your 13-year-old neighbor girl.
I attempted to read a mountain of books filled with info on sleeping, breastfeeding, birthing...and only ended up making it through a book on what kinds of things to buy for your baby (yes, you can roll your eyes).
I survived that infant stage. My little guy is just rounding the corner of becoming a walking, talking one-year-old with a few bumps and bruises along the way, but there is NO book, person, or podcast that prepared me for a few of the things that pregnancy and having a baby sent my way.
THE THIRD BOOB
I have a third boob in my armpit. I gained a lot of weight during my pregnancy and it definitely wasn't just the, "Oh, all bodies gain different amounts of weight..." Mine was 43% Chick Fil A. I noticed a lump in my armpit at one of my check ups and instantly went to worst-case scenario. My doctor nonchalantly told me it was breast tissue, to which my sweet husband said, "She has a boob in her armpit?" Thanks. And yes, it's still there.
When I left the hospital, I was warned about taking too many stool softeners or continuing them on for longer than I needed. They should probably just tell you exactly how many to take and for how many days, because the thought of runny poop freaked me out and I took half the amount they recommended. Do not do this. We had been home for about a day when I knew I had to poop and that the softener was NOT working. I was downstairs, sitting on our toilet for a decent 30 minutes with nothing happening when Oliver woke up and needed to nurse. When I was first nursing, I liked to have all of my pillows in certain spots and latched Oliver in a very specific way. When you've been on the toilet for a half hour and you feel like a tennis ball is trying to shoot out of a pinhole, nursing with throw pillows situated under your arms isn't really going to happen. While clenching the toilet, trying to push out what felt like a baby-sized poop (hello, labor number two), Greg sat across from me propping up Oliver on a pillow while Oliver nursed and I cried so many tears. Unfortunately that wasn't my rock bottom. I ended up crawling upstairs to poop on a different toilet in hopes that a bit of gravity and movement might help. Two hours later, I was triumphant and scarred for the rest of my life. Let's just say my fingernails got a gooood scrubbing. TAKE YOUR STOOL SOFTENERS.
In case you're not up on your baby products, the NoseFrida is this outrageous contraption that allows you to suck the snot out of your baby's nose instead of having to use one of those bulb/syringe things. Google it if you're so confused, but it's basically a straw/tube thing that has a filter on one end that connects to a tube you can put in your baby's nostril to get out the snot.
When I received this for a baby shower gift I was kind of horrified that this would ever be something I would need. After bringing the snottiest-nosed kid into this world, NoseFrida became a staple around the White house. Greg always does the sucking. It's not that I'm grossed out by it, I just don't have the lung capacity that he does.
For probably four months, Greg used the NoseFrida without the filter and nothing ever "came up" in his mouth and he was never bothered by it. When he was at work and I was trying to get Oliver to a friend's house, his nose just kept running and running and I knew I was going to have to do my own Frida-ing. I inhaled the end of that NoseFrida with all my might and instantly began gagging. The largest booger clump had shot straight through that straw, into my mouth, and nailed the back of my throat. I coughed it back up into my hand and proceeded to die. Never again. Use the filter, my friends.
Raising a boy means getting peed on a lot and having to care for parts I'm unfamiliar with. Early on, Greg and I were changing Oliver's diaper. Oliver was a tiny little guy and I was still trying my best to understand the ins and outs of how to change his diaper and make sure he stayed clean. I told Greg I was afraid I wasn't cleaning his circumcision well enough, to which he responded, "It's okay, it won't matter when his baby penis falls off." My horrified and gullible self FREAKED out and instantly imagined a baby penis landing in a diaper one day when I went to change Oliver. You guys, apparently that doesn't happen.
There are so many other things I didn't know about having a baby-both really good and really difficult. We just have to laugh and cry and know we are doing our very best at something incredibly beautiful and hard.