The Road Runs Both Ways

I have admitted that in the past, shamefully, I do have trouble remembering that C is not adopted. Apparently, I also have trouble remembering that A & N are adopted.

Yesterday, I was in the midst of changing clothes when I heard some health reporter say that women who have had three or more children were at increased risk of prolapse (prolapse of what, I do not know, as I promptly blew a gasket in fear). So, naturally, I did what any health-conscious women who doesn’t have time for a quick Google search would do: I stewed and worried about my poor prolapsed whatsit all fucking night. After all, I have three kids! I’m right in the middle of the doomed population! Something inside could be thinking about falling out right now! Or now! Or even now! I even had a little trouble falling asleep, because I was thinking how mortifying it will be for me to go to Dr. W, crying to him because something or another is in imminent danger of falling out of my hoo-hah! I was doing kegals like crazy, because my luck my poor prolapsed part would fall completely out and I would trip over it on my way to the bathroom.

The next day at work, I resolved to Google the shit out of that health reporter’s statement at my earliest opportunity. I will take each and every preventative measure to insure that what’s meant to be inside will stay on the inside, goddamnit! Do you hear my pelvis? Keep your parts to yourself, yo!

But then . . .

Then I remembered: Those older two kids are adopted! They didn’t affect my hoo-hah in any way, shape, or form! Only one kid affected my girly parts! I’m in the clear!

What a relief.

Until next time.