I am now uterus-less and starting to heal up. The surgery required four small incisions which were glued shut afterward. They applied butterfly bandages to each one and then put a band-aid over it. The band-aids came off after a few showers, but the butterfly bandages are still hanging in there. I think it is probably safe to remove them, but I have this fear of my insides seeping out of the holes if I do.

Yesterday, I removed the bandage from the smallest incision (minuscule, really) and lo and behold, nothing happened. That did not stop me from dreaming about waking up to my intestines pushing their way out of my insides. Sorry, I know it's gross, but it is what it is. 

Monday I go in for a post-op appointment and to see if I can return to work. I am ready to be back at work- maybe not physically, but mentally. Plus, I do miss my co-workers. As it stands, I have a hard time staying awake for more than three hours at a time, I still have to hold my abdomen when I cough, laugh, ride in the car, lay on my side, turn my head too quickly and say more than five sentences in a row. Okay, it's not that bad, but it feels that way sometimes. I thought I would get so much writing and stuff done while I was home recovering, but in fact, I have done pretty much nothing.

On the brighter side, I have lost about 7 pounds. Not sure if that was all uterus weight, or from eating very little the first week home. I will probably gain it all back by the time I return to work, as I have had ridiculous cravings for Red Bento's beef teriyaki. Jon has indulged each one of them too. I feel like I could survive on just that. Beef teriyaki, rainbow sherbet, orange juice and cinnamon bears are about all I eat lately. Such health food, right. To make myself feel a little better about my diet, I went to the Moscow Co-op the other day and had breakfast. It was biscuits and gravy, but I am sure it was healthy- it is the Co-op. I don't brave that trip for nothing. 

I am recovering from surgery and flew my mom from California to help out for a week. The entire time she kept saying how useless she felt. Our kids aren't little anymore- they're almost all teenagers- and they get themselves ready for school in the morning and pick out clothes to wear, and take showers on their own (sometimes after much encouragement). I'm not a single mom, or have a husband that works all hours of the night and day. Some might think I didn't really need my mom to come, but they would be wrong.

Not only did my mom do endless loads of laundry- managing to pair up 80% of the hundreds of our wayward socks- she washed dishes every day, swept and vacuumed floors, attended basketball games and kept me company. Usually my kids have chores to do each day, but while she was here, she assisted them and I heard very little complaining. I was unable to attend my daughter's basketball games, and my youngest's games to watch her cheer, but my mom went and took video and cheered them on. She relieved my husband of extra duties so he could go to work without worrying about me.

And while my mom did all of these household and family tasks, she sat and watched stupid TV with me and talked with me about the news and told me stories from home, and listened to me grunt and groan as I moved around. She got me glasses of water, and helped me put together Valentines for the kids. She made me laugh ( a lot), and I didn't even mind that I had to hold my stomach and take pain pills afterward.

My mom was the best after-surgery helper in the world and we were all sad to see her go home.

Thanks, mom- you are one in a million.

I have a broken uterus. Yes, you read that right. It is defective, and has been referred to (by medical professionals) as uncooperative, enlarged, shy and malfunctioning. So, to make it simple, I am referring to it as broken.

Sometimes, broken implies that something is fixable- not in this case. Mine is permanently in disrepair and will soon be kicked to the curb (or at least thrown in a pile of bio waste, or wherever broken uterus go when they die).

I have enlisted the help of robotic arms to rid me of my broken uterus. My son thinks this is dangerous. He has pointed out several times that robots can not be trusted. 'You've seen the movies, Mom,' he says. According to him, I will probably be implanted with some sort of robotic parts that may or may not cause me to have robot babies or try to take over the world.

These images have caused a number of weird dreams, so I have decided to name the robotic arm Rosie. This sounds friendly and helpful- not at all menacing and evil. After all, the maid in The Jetsons was named Rosie, and she was awesome - even if she was a bit bossy and sarcastic at times. I would not be comfortable with a robot named Box or T-300 or Gort.

I have been looking at the positive side of this whole thing, and have come up with the ultimate happy thought. I will actually lose weight from this. A uterus has to weigh at least 8 ounces, right? With mine being all enlarged and stuff, it could feasibly be more like 16. That is a whole pound of weight gone.

Okay, after much research on the InterWebs, I found out the average uterus weighs 100-200 grams and is the size of a women's fist. Mine is probably more the size of a very large man's fist. I then had to find a way to convert grams to ounces, and I found out it is about 3.5 to 7 ounces. Who knows, I could lose a whole 2 pounds depending on how defective I am.

I will have a lot of time on my hands for the next few weeks while I am out of work. I might even step up my game and write a blog post every day. I'm not sure how exciting they will be, but you never know.

I saw these plush toys at the WSU bookstore. I guess I could get one if I  feel lonely after my uterus is gone. It's a little weird though.

It's hot today. Don't get me wrong, after all the rain I am happy for weather in the 70s. The problem is the house feels like 90 degrees. Our front room doesn't have windows that actually open. Instead they act like giant magnifying glasses in the afternoon sun, cooking everything that even crosses their sunny paths. I'm serious, I think if I put a plate of hotdogs on the arm of my chair and waited until 1 pm, I could have a roasted weenie. Either that or one of the kids would have eaten them way before the sun started to turn the metal stands of the living room lamps into branding irons.

I have a ton of work to get done today. Working from home isn't all it's cracked up to be when the kids are out of school. I hate having to attempt to get extra work done in anticipation of not being able to work. It completely de-motivates me. Maybe I should make up one of those de-motivational posters for my wall.

My son has surgery scheduled for tomorrow so they can work on his leg and save him from casually breaking his fibula as he walks down the street. The hospital where the surgery takes place is almost two hours away yet they scheduled his check-in for 6 a.m. — so nice of them to remember we are early birds.

I just realized what a random bunch of facts and stories this post is turning out to be. In order to prevent any further rambling, I am going to attempt to work (for real).