Remember when I confessed that B and I were not postpartuming like a boss? Well, 2015 has given us a second chance at doing so and no, not because of another new baby (C’mon, people – math! 😉 )!

No, this time I am aiming for recovery because they actually put me under and corrected my deviated septum on Monday and now I am in my spot, on the couch – because it is the only recliner we have – for the rest of the week. And this time I really am going to follow three “simple” steps:

Step One: Feed the baby.

Step Two: Rely on rock-star hubs to do ALL the other things, including bringing me the baby to feed.

Step Three: Not Care Two Bits about what the house looks like or how much Mac’N’Cheese is consumed between now and whenever I feel like cooking again.

And unlike post-Truman when I totally sucked at following pretty much these same exact rules, this time I am totally on board.

I am totally also on pain meds which probably helps? By the way, Husband should probably be filtering all of my posts, here and on social media, during this time period, but you know — honesty and all that, and it turns out that my first-ever smartphone is a brilliant distraction from my bleeding nose and dry mouth.

So here’s an honest assessment of today (regardless of medication): it went well and it was not easy.

As usual in life, the waiting game was the worst. I wasn’t to report to the hospital until 9:00 this morning anyway and once we got there and saw the waiting room, it was pretty clear this would not be a speedy process.

Grand scheme of things, it was only a two-hour delay. I’m sure it could have been much worse (i.e. longer), but as it was, I was all of the following things during this wait: hangry, tense, uncaffeinated, and on a boob time schedule. Really, if it weren’t for nursing, I wouldn’t have cared one bit about how long my little “mamacation” (oh, the lengths we will go for a break?!) took, but breastfeeding is a constant time clock and that meant I was aching, physically and emotionally, for Truman well before I was taken back for surgery.

Speaking of surgery, I think it went well? I don’t know because my dear husband left to (rightfully!) help his mom back at the house to get the kids lunch and the baby a bottle and did not make it back in time to talk to the doc post-proceddure (because apparently when I finally did go back, things went quickly). Eventually I’ll get over that fact (sorry, B, if it feels like I’m throwing you under the bus here), mainly because he is being so attentive and totally awesome in the care-taking realm right now (see?? I still give you mad props!), but the fact remains – I neither know exactly what happened in my nose nor what happens next (yes, doc chatted w/ me prior to surgery, but still).

Today marked some pretty big firsts, actually – my first IV (yes, even after having 4 babes), my first anesthesia, and my first surgery (let’s make it the last? mmmkay?), and perhaps that played into the emotional mama bit, too.

Prior to surgery, even with the delays, I handled things like a yogi/pro. Deep breaths to calm down (the cough settled down just in time!), mindful attention to my body to release tension (holy stressed shoulders, Batman!), and mentally working my way through the faces of all the kind friends and family members who wished me well in the last few weeks as I felt their love and support surround me even though I was alone in a pre-op room. Yes, I own my hippy-dippy-ness.

After surgery, though, when I was still in a spot where Ben could not get to me (with pump in hand), the first thing I saw when I woke up (side note: reaction to anesthesia was OK! Not $1 million but also not puking, so a win all the same!) was a clock. And it read the time I originally though I’d be home by, easily.

My first thought?

Trumy.

My first reaction to that?

Eyes smarting with tears and throat clenching, which you know, isn’t great right after a doctor has completely rearranged the inside of your nose.

And while I managed to work some serious magic by not completely dissolving in tears, it still felt heavy to be away from him for so long today; it probably didn’t help that fear and doubt were in the back of my mind whispering about messing up breastfeeding by having this done.

Now that I’m home and have held and nursed my sweet, growing boy, the whispers have quieted a bit. It’s still going to be a heck of a week, but with B’s mom taking the Bigs for a few days and B rocking doing All the other Things, I know I can do this. I can sit and rest and let my body recover. I can also sustain Truman because I am also a warrior/ninja/badass with mad milk skills (see? Husband really needs editing privileges this week…)

I mean, c’mon….I’ve got the fighter face to prove it: