Staples: The Office Superstore

So I got my staples out last Tuesday. Yes, I said STAPLES. Staples, like I'm some sort of book report that needs to be turned in. I had 17 staples (that's ten plus seven) holding me together on the outside and god knows what on the inside. The staples had to be removed, whatever stitching they used inside me would dissolve on its own thankfully. Let me tell you, I had yet to look at the incision, usually having Randy or my mother inspect it for any infection and/or bleeding. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was dreading the staple removal mainly because upon discharge from the hospital I was given, in a handy dandy sterile sealed pouch, the ACTUAL tool that would be used to remove said staples. I was given instructions to bring it to my clinic appointment 4 days later so they could "unstaple" me. I must have looked at that contraption every night. It looked like something out of Hellraiser or Hostel and I certainly did NOT want it anywhere near my incision. So, the day of "The Removal", I decided to be brave and when I stepped out of the shower I looked at the incision.

Um............ok..............WHAT THE FUCK!!!!! First of all, my pregnancy belly had deflated, leaving this half skinny half flabby roll of jelly around my middle. On top of that, my stomach is now covered by the Nile and its tributaries in a lovely purplish/red map. Gorgeous! What was once my not-so-flat-but-certainly-not-a-gut stomach is now this oogly boogly jiggly mess of, of, of, of SOMETHING! And then, I peered lower and saw.................................IT. Ok, nothing prepared me for being The Amazing Stapled Girl, but let me tell you some conclusions I drew upon seeing my incision:

• 1. Hip huggers pants are OUT.
• 2. Bikinis are OUT
• 3. Being naked in front of my husband is OUT
• 4. Being naked in front of myself is OUT
• 5. My dreams of being a Victoria's Secret Model? OUT
• 6. From now on, when receiving oral sex, I will be smiling in TWO places
• 7. I know know what chopped meat feels like

So I did indeed get the staples removed which wasn't bad at all. Please, after 32 hours of labor and a C-Section, I figure they could have shoved a metal rod up my ass and I would have giggled girlishly. It was cake, and for all the bitching and moaning I'm doing about my stomach and this hideous scar (which after I get the "all clear" to go to the gym in 6 weeks I will be able to tone up) nothing beats the reward of my son in my arms as I type this: one hand on the keyboard, the other holding him.

Hip huggers? Bikinis? Never wore those before so who cares if I can't now. Being a Vicky Secret Model? Screw it, anorexia was never my thing. Being naked in front of my husband? Hell, he didn't care about the huge preggo belly, and he doesn't mind the jiggly now. These things don't really matter and I would get 5 million more scars for the look I'm getting now from my son (who is probably taking a huge poopy in his diaper, but his face is adorable.)