finally home.

We start adjusting to our new normal. This looks about as cinematic as a train wreck would. I don't think I wore a shirt for the first few days and my poor husband just held me close as I would cry for no reason at all.

My saint of a mother came to bring breakfast and love on Lou every morning. She stocked the house with protein snacks for a new breastfeeding mom and chicken wings for the sleep deprived new dad.

My war wound was finally healing. Or so I thought.

Until one afternoon when I could feel a hard knot underneath my c section scar. I called the Dr. and they had me come in that day. Guess what folks? My hematoma decided it wasn't going to play nice with my organs and started to try and make its way out of my incision. 

Well, it was already closed up nicely, so there was only one way to let the bloody demon out...re cut me open. I thought Jon was going to faint right then and there. They sliced me back open and squeezed out as much as they could. From the way things had been going, I knew better than to think that this would be it. 

We had to drive to the doctor every s i n g l e day for 4 weeks  to squeeze said demon out, and then pack me full of stuffing until the next day.

Those scars finally started to heal, the real scars started to show. 

PPD, PTSD, I was an emotional wreck. I felt like I was robbed my magical birth experience and truly grieved the vision I had built up in my head. 

The first month of blissful newborn dreamland was a total nightmare, and heaven on earth, all at the same time. I was forced to let go of the reigns and let the stubbornness fade. It's not always up to me how things turn out. 

Turns out, after all, my dad was always right. God really does laugh when we make plans.