Promised Post #2

or, “How to tell your hormones are on a roller coaster ride like no other”

While we were in the hospital, I had a meltdown. Over meatloaf.

Yes, you read that correctly.

Meatloaf.

On Monday I was given a menu and an order form for the next two days worth of meals. So, I ordered enough food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner so that Dan could eat without having to go to McDonald’s or some place like that. The hospital food was okay…not spectacular, but not the worst thing I’ve ever been expected to eat (that prize goes to the food at band camp…).

Monday’s meals were exactly what I ordered. Tuesday’s breakfast was what I ordered. Then all hell broke loose.

We were having visitors on Tuesday and all I wanted to do was take a shower and wash/dry my hair before everyone got there. Dan wanted to go get a hair cut. I got in the shower and the baby was sleeping when I got out, so I told Dan to go get his hair cut. So he did. And then Joshua woke up and would NOT calm down, even after I tried to feed him, even after cuddling and swaddling him, even after changing his diaper. Nothing.

Then Dan got back and they wheeled Joshua out for his circumcision (thinking about him being in pain made me a basketcase…). I finally got to dry my hair, but I had waited too long and it wouldn’t dry right and I didn’t want to look like crap for our visitors (yes, I realize how irrational that sounds considering I was, oh, I dunno, IN THE HOSPITAL recovering from MAJOR SURGERY….). And I was in pain. Oh my god, the pain. Trying to sit/stand/get out of the bed was a nightmare for a week. But, despite the pain, it wasn’t time for any medications. Boo!!!

Then the nurse brought in my lunch. Finally! Food. Yes! Only, when I lifted the lid off the tray, what was on that plate was NOT the baked potato and chicken soup I’d ordered. Instead, there were seasoning-less mashed potatoes, canned green beans, and what I can only describe as meatloaf soup, and I hate normal meatloaf, so you can imagine how much I looooved this wonderful concoction.

Someone had decided to bring me the “Soft foods” plate designed for those who are having gastrointestinal difficulties.

It was disgusting.

But, I ate it anyway because 1) I was pissed about everything, and 2) I thought the doctor had ordered it so that I would poop before I left the hospital. (Turns out the latter wasn’t true at all and she was kind of befuddled as to why I ate the nasty meal.) I cried the whole time I ate the meal. Seriously, tears were streaming down my face and I was sort of half-sobbing into my meatloaf soup.

So, ladies, let this serve as a warning. If you find yourself crying into a meal post-delivery, it is not a sign of the apocalypse. It is, however, a sign that you’ve just given birth and sent your endocrine system into overdrive. Good luck to you, and know that your tears-in-your-meatloaf encounter is probably just the first in a series of irrational meltdowns you may experience.