the all clear

I dreaded my six-week checkup because - um, you want to do what? Do you realize a seven-pound bullet just tore its way out of there?

But alas, everything is much easier than my mind prepares for.

I adore my midwife. Like, I want to be friends with her and have our husbands be friends. And maybe our dogs, too. We talked for a long time about my rapid-fire birth, which cloth diapering detergent we use, the fact we'll both turn 30 next year, how we're both Type A and want to plan our lives to the month.

And when I left I kind of wanted to say.."so, I know we don't get to see each other again and you totally just checked out my stitches in an awkward location, but I dunno do you want to..uh...well....you know....meet for happy hour?"

Instead, I said "see ya in the spring for my pap." Because that, kids, is how you make friends.

The report:

• I've lost 30 pounds. I have six to go. The second most alarming part of this is, I gained 36 pounds in nine months?!
• My iron levels which previously had dropped from 13 to 7 are back to 13.7. This is partly attributed to out-patient iron infusions but mostly due to my mother force feeding me raisins, red meat, malt-o-meal and beans.
• I am allowed to run. Resume the obsessive research on finding my first race. 
• My stitches are completely healed.
• And the best news? I am the fastest birther she's seen. Seems only appropriate I get my picture with a gold star in the office lobby.

We talked about my next baby. How the likelihood of it shooting out like a cannonball three seconds after I feel the first contraction is quite high.

It feels good to have it done, though. I'm no longer a patient recovering from birth but just normal Sarah, figuring how to take care of a baby, be a moderately-sane wife and do some poopy diaper laundry on the side.