Calling Miss Thang!

I am pleased to announce that, thanks to my gall bladder diet, I have shed a fairly incredible amount of weight over the last month. Add that to what I lost by consuming nothing but chicken breasts and low-glycemic vegetables in a fairly futile attempt to shed all of my pregnancy weight and I’ve lost a little over 40 pounds since last December. I now stand just 14 pounds from my pre-pregnancy weight -- if I put the scale in a certain spot on the floor and lean heavily to the right.

Truthfully, it is more like 14 pounds and approximately 14 million sit-ups. And a tummy tuck. And a breast lift. And probably some lipo too.

Because here’s the reality of having a baby or two. It changes your body. And usually not in a good way either.

Now that I’ve written that, I will likely be deluged by emails from women all over the world who now have better bodies than they did prior to having children.

I’m going to save you some time ladies, because I don’t want to get emails from you. In fact, I would like to forget that you even exist at all. Because I find you highly annoying. And even though I don’t know you, I don’t like you. Not one bit.

Here’s what having a baby has done to my body. My stomach, which a couple of days before delivery measured nearly 70 inches around, is covered with stretch marks and loose saggy skin. Apparently, my waist doesn’t like being as big around as I am tall. Because in case you can’t do simple math folks (and I won’t hold that against you; I had to use the calculator to figure it out myself), my waist was well over FIVE FEET AROUND. My waist was bigger than my 4'9" grandma, people. So excuse the stretch marks and saggy skin, and let’s move onto my boobs.

Way back in college, my friends called me Chesty Morgan after the porn star who used her double M udders to suffocate the bad guys in her films, so suffice to say, I have never been a small-breasted girl. But my breasts used to have a little lift to them. They used to look like boobs. But now they more closely resemble deflated hot-water bottles. BIG deflated hot-water bottles. And when I go braless, I swear to you that my boobs rest on my thighs. One more time for emphasis: My THIGHS. So for my own safety and for the safety of those around me, I certainly don’t go braless anywhere except the shower.

And as long as we’re talking about things heading south, let’s talk about my ass. My ass seems to be a lot bigger and rounder than it did a few years ago. I’m fairly certain that this is not my overactive imagination at work. And trust me when I tell you, this is not a good thing. I’d like to think that shedding those last fourteen pounds will bring my ass back to its pre-pregnancy status. But this is where the lipo would come in because by my estimates, WAY MORE than 14 pounds of fat is going to have to be sucked out of my ass for it to attain its pre-pregnancy assitude.

There’s also the issue of my hair. A little-known fact by those who have never been pregnant before: you will have the best hair of your life when you are pregnant. It will be shiny and fuller and you will look as if you just stepped off the set of a Pantene commercial. Then after you have your baby, all of that hair will fall out. Unless you’re me. Because if you’re me, every extra hair you grew during both of your pregnancies will stay in your head. And suddenly, you will be asking your stylist to take a razor and thin your hair. A LOT. And you will worry that your hair will overtake your boobs as the most enormous thing on your body. And you will wonder on a daily basis when big hair will come back into style again.

All of the above doesn't even touch some of the other lovely side effects of pregnancy that make me feel as if my body has been run over by something large and then put back together again with rusty steel parts -- and that's on a good day. My hips ache if I sit too long OR if I walk too far and don't even ask me to lay on my right side. My doctor assures me this will disappear within the next year as my hip bones and all of the ligaments and muscles go back together. But in the meantime, I'm about ready to send away for information on an Amigo.

Another fairly disturbing pregnancy-related injury would be my stomach muscles. Or what used to be my stomach muscles. Because that baby I popped out blew my stomach muscles apart. This is a not uncommon side effect of pregnancy and actually has a very scientific-sounding name, but none of that matters. What matters is this: not only is my stomach huge and protruding, but I am now carrying around my GINORMOUS boobs using only my back muscles. And it hurts. A lot. A lot a lot. And apparently, no matter how many crunches I do, no matter how many Pilates and yoga classes I take, no matter how many sit-ups I do holding onto a 75-lb weight, all of these efforts are fruitless. My only hope is surgery. So pass me that gallon of ice cream and send donations so I can go see Dr. 90210. If my stomach is going to bulge out, I'm going to at least enjoy the ride.

All of this has left me definitely worse for the wear and also very curious -- for all of those women out there who had a mini-bump when you were 9.5 months pregnant and then left the hospital wearing your skinny jeans, how did you do it? It's too late for me, but maybe you can help some poor other soul before she's left to ride in an Amigo with her deflated hot water bottles resting on her thighs.

Full of Holes, but Not Full of Stones

I have something to say to all of you who said to me that "getting out your gall bladder is no big deal."

LIARS -- all of you! Especially my mother, who claims to have eaten a double cheeseburger on her way home from the hospital post-gall bladder removal.

Only one person, my friend Rebecca, was honest with me about this procedure. Rebecca said to me, "Everyone says it's easy, but you're still getting an organ removed."

I am delighted to report that I am definitely feeling close to normal, but I think those who have endured time with me over the last few weeks may be even happier than I am that I am mending up nicely. To say that I have been a whiny, needy, emotionally-over-the-top pain who very possibly missed the last bus to Hollywood would be something of a severe understatement.

In case you ever need to get your gall bladder removed (and here's hoping you don't), here are a few things I've learned:

1) Three year olds don't mince words. When I got home from the hospital, my first order of business was to reassure Mike that I hadn't had another baby to further ruin his life. My second order of business was to point out the variety of fresh wounds in my belly to discourage one of his favorite activities -- that of climbing all over me and kneeing me and elbowing me in the gut in an effort to be affectionate. I lifted up my shirt and told him that a doctor had cut a bunch of holes in my belly to make it feel better so he needed to be very gentle with me for a few days. He looked at my stomach in all of its glory with its freshly-cut holes, stretch marks, and loose skin, and said, "Mom, your stomach looks..." then he paused as if searching for the right word and ended with "GROSS!"

2) You're not going to want to work your digestive system too hard after you have had part of it removed. My surgeon warned me that I would experience what he referred to as "gastric distress" for the entire first month after surgery. I think distress is a very serious understatement. What he should have said is this: "You will eat something. Within ten minutes of your last bite of food, that once solid food will become water. And then you need to run. Because that water is going to shoot out of your ass with the force of a tsunami."

3) Your husband will lose his patience with you when you share yet another litany of aches and pains that signal your coming demise. I spent the first ten days after my surgery coming up with creative ways that gall bladder surgery would kill me. From brain anuerysms to an accidental slash of my liver and resulting slow bleed to my surgeon removing one of my kidneys and selling it on the black market, I was sure that my end was near. And I shared almost every one of these thoughts with my husband. My husband, who at the very beginning of all of this, was very sympathetic about trying to calm my irrational fears. My husband, who by day ten and the sale of my kidney and resulting kidney failure, suggested that the next time I need surgery, I should do it out of state and only come home after I have fully recovered.

4) If you call your surgeon with silly questions at 10 p.m. on Saturday, he won't return your calls. Surgeons apparently have even less tolerance for gall bladder patients who are sure they are dying from a blood clot six days after surgery than does the gall bladder patients' husband.

5) Recovering from surgery is something that is best done without small children -- especially babies who like to kick you in your incisions and toddlers who like to lean into your dissected gut while they're trying to give you a hug to "make you feel better." Enough said. Really.

6) It is possible to watch five hours of the "101 Most Starlicious Makeovers". I had envisioned my recovery including lots of reading of great literature. But the most intellectual activity I was able to muster was researching blood clots and brain anuerysms on the Internet and thumbing through an Oprah magazine. I mostly watched True Hollywood Story. And did you realize that Britney Spears has enough going on in her under-30 year old existence to merit TWO HOURS of a True Hollywood Story? Well, now you do. And sadly, if you ask me just about anything Britney, I will be able to answer. Go ahead -- send me those tough Britney questions!

Happy Mother's Day

I got my first homemade Mother's Day present this year.

Now I totally understand why my mom has saved every card and every gift made out of finger paint and pipe cleaners.