What I Didn’t Expect When I Was Expecting. *WARNING: do not read if you’re squeamish and/or an in-law*

I’m not naive…let’s just get that out of the way right out of the box, but there is some funky business going down over here at No. 7 and, for once, it’s not of my doing. Since making the move to WordPress, I’ve discovered this magical place called Site Stats. It’s a far more magical place than Sitemeter ever was because within Site Stats exists the most magical realm of all. Its name is “Search Engine Terms”. Getting the picture? I can see what people are searching for when their proverbial ship comes to ground here on the beautiful yet slightly schizophrenic island of Narragansett No. 7.

I can’t stop myself. I love logging on and while my stats are loading, my level of anticipation builds to a frightening level.

Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please let there be just one more bizarre or filthy sounding search term in that queue!

I have started sharing the previous day’s weirdest and/or most offensive search terms on the Narragansett No. 7 Facebook wall. I own it, so I can do whatever I want to and, well…I want to. On Saturday morning I shared Friday’s winning search term which was as follows: “mom washing my penis”.

Huh.

Well, I’m not entirely sure how that particular search landed Mr. McIssues at No. 7, but I want to thank him for the laugh.

As I pondered these strange and border-line repulsive searches conducted by people unknown to me, I recalled a time back before I was a mommy. Actually, I was technically very close to becoming a mommy for the first time. My stomach was freakishly large and I was enduring a heat wave in Boston which, for some odd reason, caused me to sit on the floor in front of a fan for an usually long period of time. I don’t know why. Maybe the hardwood floor felt cool, I don’t remember. Nonetheless, after lying around like a giant sow for what seemed like hours, I hoisted my grotesquely deformed self off the floor and began my pitiful end-of-pregnancy waddle toward the kitchen. Mid-waddle, it struck me that things weren’t quite right down below. Something was really out of place. I’d never had a baby before so you’ll understand that I was slightly alarmed when I realized that my entire crotch was swollen.

Yes, that’s right, I said my crotch was swollen.

Believe me…I had the same disgusted and horrified reaction except I actually grabbed a mirror and looked at it! After emitting a piercing scream, I ran-waddled to my laptop and began furiously searching Medline and OB/GYN sites for the cause of ‘giant swollen crotches in the 9th month of pregnancy.’

Evidently I wasn’t the first woman on the face of the Internet to suffer the malady because I immediately found a discussion board about the very subject. I know…what are the chances? Yet, it was on that very informative (and slightly off-putting) discussion board that I found a link for “Cheeseburger Crotch”. By that time I had determined I wouldn’t suffer death by swollen vaghooha and my swelling was likely due to the fact that I’d sat my big, fat pregnant ass on a hardwood floor while my baby’s head pressed on some nerve or something…yadda yadda and totally boring. BUT… Cheeseburger Crotch intrigued me. It might have even made me giggle just a little bit, so I clicked the link. Today, as I wrote about what is probably my most intimate and mortifying moment ever, I found myself Googling “Cheeseburger Crotch” again. Nearly seven years have passed since my brush with The Burger, and it appears that Cheeseburger Crotch is much more widely discussed in these enlightened times. WebMD has even dedicated an article discussing embarrassing pregnancy symptoms, one of which, as you can probably guess, being Cheeseburger Crotch.

Well, back there in 2004, I laughed really hard – at myself and my crotch. Then I did what any woman with freakishly swollen vagina would do. I called my sister.

Hello?

Hey…so, I have Cheeseburger Crotch.

WHAT?!

Yeah, Cheeseburger Crotch.

Ummm…(followed by some nervous laughter)

I got up and couldn’t walk right because my crotch got in the way.

WHAT?!

Seriously. My crotch swelled so much I couldn’t walk, so I walked to the bathroom and looked at it because I thought maybe the baby’s head was coming out or something, but it was just REALLY swollen. So I did a web search and it turns out that I have Cheeseburger Crotch. [pause as I popped a salt & vinegar chip into my mouth] But don’t worry…it’s going away now.

uh…

I’ve gotta tell ya’…Cheeseburger Crotch is exactly the right description for what was going on down there.

I don’t really know what my sister said because she was laughing so hard. Until this very moment…right now…as I type…I have never discussed my run in with The Burger with anyone other than my sister simply because of all people on the face of this earth, she was the only one I knew who would laugh as hard I did.

 Yeah…I went there. Click the flashing box if you like fries with your burger.

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Pretty Suckers

Like three tiny vampires, they sucked the pretty right out of me. The first two went relatively easy on the amount of beauty they stole. They sucked just enough pretty to allow me to replenish. They were kind enough to leave the pretty somewhat intact, considerately taking only what they needed. They didn’t cry too much, they slept through the night and, mostly, I only had to chase them around a Boston apartment with two bedrooms and no stairs in the living area. We all went to the gym together, we took advantage of Boston’s sidewalks and the Charles River Esplanade that was right around the corner. The park across the street wasn’t half bad either.
 
Then we moved to the country. We bought an 150-year-old house and got pregnant in the middle of our grand plans for tearing down plaster walls and renovating a barn (insert the sound of a scratching record here).
 
The third one is the real culprit. She’s the one who sucked the last vestiges of pretty out of me. Please, allow me to present the People’s Exhibit No. 1.

Exhibit No. 1 - Still Riding the Pretty Train

Exhibit No. 2 (below) shows me one full year after the photo in Exhibit No. 1 was taken. Notice that I was still riding the pretty train, looking fit and well-rested. I was running four times a week at that point. You can tell right? The gym was within walking distance to our apartment and they had free babysitting. God bless the Oak Square YMCA. I miss you.

exbibit no. 2 - still pretty

Then we moved away and purchased what I consider to be the mother of all Pretty Suckers.

Exhibit No. 3 - Evil Pretty Sucker

Just when we began tearing down 150-year-old plaster walls, we were struck with some rather unexpected news.

Exhibit No. 4 - Pretty Sucker Number Three

 Pretty Sucker extraordinaire was born nine months and one scaled back kitchen renovation later. Bathroom renovations? Forget about it. Walk in closet? Yeah, that became a pooky-pink nursery. Have you ever lived through construction in a 150-year-old house? That old horsehair plaster dust sure can travel! Not to mention the possibility of lead dust, the four steep and narrow staircases and drafty windows. So we sold the mother of all Pretty Suckers to provide a safe, warm and comfortable habitat for our little Pretty Suckers.

exhibit No.5

 Pretty Sucker Number Three looks like a beautiful, quiet baby doesn’t she? Look at her peaceful newborn slumber. Breathtaking, isn’t it? *sigh*

Well, here’s the reality of Pretty Sucker Number Three’s first two years.

exhibit no. 6

exhibit no. 7

exhibit no. 8
She is also the star of the Narragansett No. 7’s banner. She’s my muse.

Sometimes the Pretty Suckers can’t control their vicious nature and they are forced to squish themselves into small hiding places to avoid public detection. On the day that this photo was taken (Refer to Exhibit No. 9), Pretty Sucker Number Two was feeling particularly vicious. It hid in this spot at LL Bean in Freeport for 20 full minutes before re-emerging in the form of a child. Under no circumstances should you approach a Pretty Sucker during this heightened state of agitation. They will scream very loudly and there is a strong possibility of a nasty bite. Slowly back away and pretend to ignore the Pretty Sucker. Attempt to make eye contact with the horrified adults in the general vicinity while pretending that the Pretty Sucker belongs to someone else. If possible, laugh and snap a few pictures, but do so from a distance to avoid further provocation.

exhibit no. 9

The male Pretty Sucker is relatively quiet and has a terrific sense of humor. These days he tends to leave me and my minuscule amount of remaining beauty alone. That is, if I allow him to assume his alter ego and scare the other two Pretty Suckers.

In my earliest days with the Pretty Suckers, I foolishly thought they would allow me to retain my pretty. I read them bedtime stories in skinny jeans and a pair of Jimmy Choos before going on dates with their daddy. My hair was still long and luxurious. Well, I was stupid!
 
Four short years and the addition of Pretty Sucker Number Three has left me in a rather haggard state. I’m considering Thermage coupled with a chemical peel to attack my fine lines and wrinkles… 
Click the brown box below if you would like to donate to my plastic surgery fund. Okay, not really…but a click on the box will register a vote for No. 7 at Top Mommy Blogs!
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