The family and I verntured out for our first base pool extravaganza this weekend. It's always a risky undertaking, since the weekends tend to be crazy with wild kids and "I-usually-live-under-a-rock-until-the-base-pool-opens" adults, but we figured we'd give ourselves some respite from the near constant "big-pool" chants from our newly chatty daughter and venture out.
We found a cozy corner to rest our 12 bags and appropriately labeled pool toys (we learned our lesson last year with all the little toy thieves), and I was just starting to examine my new found stomach rolls and one lone pubic hair that had made an escape across the panty border (thanks to 2-year-old pregnancy hormones) and missed the clutches of my obviously piss-poor wax attempts, when there she was in all her glory - The teeny-tinyest out-of-womb baby I had EVER seen.
I tried really hard not to stare, but I was distracted by her little red limbs and fist-sized head covered with a huge infant hat. The young mother looked calm and comfy in a tube top and shorts, gently dipping her feet in the baby pool water while glancing lovingly at her little baby. People stopped over to "ooh and ahh" over her. But all I could think was,"Dude. Doesn't your crotch hurt on that cement floor?"
Turns out the baby was TWO DAYS OLD and the mom had enough whatever (morphine, perhaps), to slip on shorts, a tube top, and I imagine a well-designed sanitary pad, and go to the pool. I mean, really. Two days after I had Q, I was either flat on my back, or cringing as she latched on to my scabby boob. "Let's go to the pool for a cool dip" did not enter my mind even ONCE if only to throw my really annoying husband and screaming daughter in (just for a second, mind you).
Moving back to trying to figure out how to maneuver my bikini top so my boobs didn't look so freaking uneven, in comes yet another brand new baby. This one was 9 days old and just as small as the other one. In walked the mom - no waddle or weird "crotch-on-fire" walk to be seen - and down she sat on the very non-hemmarhoid friendly pool chair, smiling all the while. I even said "Wow, you're a trooper" which got a mildly loud chuckle - indicating either they thought they were idiots too, or I just made myself sound like a total wussola.
So then I thought. Who's really the freak here? Did they really have that easy of a time where they can just be out and about after 2 freaking days? Or did I over-exaggerate my total and utter confusion and exhaustion during the first few months... let alone days?
I mean. I'm pretty sure I didn't smile for a long time after having my daughter. And while I loved her with everything I had, I'm quite certain I didn't leave the house for at least the first 2 weeks, let alone slip on a tiny "pool-like" outfit and enjoy the hot Mississippi sun with my brand new baby.
And then I got a little pissed. Not only because I could barely take the heat (even in the shade), but then I was like - all these men, these husbands, are looking at you and your little capable ways and are thinking, "Hm...My wife didn't want to get out of bed for weeks." And then what does that do for the rest of us who couldn't even fathom a post-pardum fart let alone leaving the house for a pool jaunt?
But then I figured (and hoped) that maybe they just don't know any better, and I'd see their hubbies out later at the grocery store picking up Prep H, crotch spray, and gel nipple chillers just like the rest of us. Troopers my ass.