Postpartum: My body 3 months post-baby

** Warning! Achtung!**
If you are a dude, this post is about periods, boobs and hair on my body.
Trust me, you don't want to know nor have you ever cared to know about a postpartum body.
Close your browser window and back away... you've been warned.

Max turned 13 weeks old just 2 days ago.
Today, being the 12th of August (and with him being born on an 11th), he is almost exactly 3 months old.
My body began falling apart at 12.5 weeks... the Monday I returned to work, actually.
Coincidence?

I went back to work this Monday and didn't wash my hair that morning (I had washed it the evening before). I styled it, read: curling iron, and brushed it all into place. When I was done, I looked down. Maybe it was the 15 hairs all wrapped about my arms tickling me endlessly that made me look down... who knows... but I looked down onto the sunlit bathroom floor to find an amazing twinkling, golden excelsior-filled flooring.
It wasn't excelsior.
I quickly looked up at the mirror and realized this was that moment when a postpartum woman goes bald.
Its awful. Freaking, awful.
At least I can say now, after having gone through this once before, I know what to expect.
I really did go bald last time, too. The front of my hairline - gone.
I got down on my knees and scraped at the stone tile to gather my fallen comrades. I then clawed at the bathroom rug like a cat in litter... pulling up the fine layer of cut threads that was... my hair.
Dammit! Its like I had my second dose of chemo and this is my wake-up call.
*sigh*
I spent the day at work swiping away strands that fell into my bra tickling me endlessly, ...pulling at the nearly invisible spiderweb-like hairs falling on my arms, ...and periodically grabbing my mane to catch the next group about to set sail.

On Wednesday, my period started.
Let me back-up.
By end-of-the-day at work on Monday, my body was in full-swing with a yeast infection. Yes, ladies, nothing anyone ever cares to read about... I should have included this in my warning above, but I didn't. SO. SORRY.
I knew on Sunday my body was headed in this direction... things didn't feel quite right.
Thankfully, Monday morning I called my OB/GYN to prescribe an oral medication (ladies, if you did not know this form of medication existed then you have been MISSING OUT. Remember this word: Dyflucan). I called Rob and asked him to pick it up for me. Thank God he did, because by 5PM, I was not only in 5-alarm-fire mode but beginning to look like I had fleas the way I would rub myself against anything.
I actually ended up causing myself an amazing amount of pain by this point... by night-fall I wanted to DIE.
I should have known that this is sometimes my calling card for my period's onset. But, when you haven't had a period for 1 year ...you forget these kinds of body quirks.
Back to Wednesday and my period starting.
Wednesday evening I spotted and I prepared for the next day at work by filling my bag with countless pads, liners and tampons. I have learned, again, after having had a baby, that your first period, post-baby, is an angry period filled with nothing but aggression and bloodshed.
I went to work on Thursday.

Thursday wasn't too bad actually.

I went to bed Thursday night.
One tampon and one liner.
Adequate coverage? Normally, yes. But I know better. But, ... I was also lazy and already in bed.
Fast forward to 5AM.
I'm half-asleep swatting my pajama shorts, continuously, from something tickling my hindquarters.
I know what this sensation is. You can't possibly survive Jr. High and High School and NOT KNOW what this feeling is.
I choose to ignore it 'cause I'm: 1. so flipping tired. 2. Max is supposed to wake-up within the next 30 minutes for his early morning bottle and I'll deal with this then ...and 3. I got that liner on, right? I'll be fine...
I realize I'm not fine.
I run to the bathroom.
Remember that scene in the Godfather? The one with the decapitated horse head?
OK, so not quite that bad... but bad. Lord am I stupid.
I clean myself up, leaving everything soaking in the sink and return to a not-so-bad bed... it was my clothing that took the brunt of the damage.

OK, now I'm awake.

That leaves us with today. Friday.
My only noteworthy postpartum symptom I noticed today was that I actually had to MOVE MY BOOBS into my bra.
Ladies, ladies,... do not write me telling me that you cannot believe I have never experienced this before and how you have no sympathy for me. Honestly, my tits were fantastically perky into my 30's when I had Evie. After Evie, they fell but still remained high & proud. After Max, ...well... I wouldn't use the word "floppy," but I sure as hell can no longer use the word "perky," either. I had to LIFT and STUFF them into place in my bra.
Shit.
There goes swimsuit season for the rest of my life.