DISCLAIMER: This post is full of TMI and graphic descriptions. If you are uncomfortable with either of these, please stop reading now, amateur. "How are you feeling?" asked the nurse as she strapped the blood pressure cuff to my arm. "Like shit," I replied, not meaning to startle her with my perhaps too direct response. Perhaps both of you recall my past complaints about my postpartum body ( here and here ). Long story short, I was apparently never made to carry babies, nor to deliver them. Of course of all the women in the world who want to be mamas, I am probably one of the better ones to be blessed/cursed with this issue. I never felt the need to carry my own children for nine months; I was fine with "outsourcing" it. Ever since I learned about adoption as a little kid, I knew it was something I wanted to do, regardless of whether or not I was able to have children myself. In fact, I hated being pregnant, and still have no ...
Food. Travel. Stuff I like but you might hate. "Parenting." En français. Rambling. Zero public attempts at crafting.