.::still blinking::.

I really wish that people would stop bringing up the fact that I am not pregnant, nor do I plan on becoming such anytime soon.

I am aware that Gentry needs a family, and luckily for him he was born into a family of a mommie and daddie who love him.

However, I do not enjoy feeling like puking for 9 months, never actually doing the act, but wishing like crazy that it would happen so that you can go on with your life and feel better.

I don’t like the nerve damage that occurs making it impossible to recognize that you have a bladder, only to realize to late that you did just drink a liter of water and that it is now running down your leg.

I didn’t enjoy ripping so badly that my gastroenterologist is recommending a remote control rectum if I don’t get control back with other methods. But a remote control would not be so bad you would have absolute control, unless you lost the remote, than I wonder what would happen. I also did not enjoy the rectal exam. I will leave that to your imagination.

I did not enjoy bleeding from my boobs for 2 months and thinking about my baby drinking my blood the entire time. Which is actually ok, the doctor knew about it and said that it would eventually get better. It did, but the thought of it never really made me feel great. I especially did not like the bloody spit up.

Then there is the postpartum depression and pre-partum as well. We will just leave that debate up to Brooke Shields and Tom Cruise (who would probably actually benefit from the medication).