I need to do something to re-erect our love life.
Re-erect? Is that a word? That’s the word I’m looking for, right? Whatever.
First, I need to do something to get myself in shape. Three months post-baby and I still feel big as a house. I lost all the baby weight pretty quickly, but I still feel like my ass is huge. I also need to do something about my vagina. There is no way it feels the same to him when we have sex. Although, we haven’t really had sex since Billy was born. I let him get halfway in and then he made some comment about my sloppy vagina and I told him to get off of me. Plenty of women have natural child birth and they don’t have floppy vaginas. I've looked it up on the internet. I've tried to look at mine with a mirror and my leg up on the sink of the bathroom. That had been right after I got home from the hospital with Billy though and it was a hot mess. I probably should have waited a few more weeks, but now I can’t look at raw ground meat without crossing my legs and wincing.
Basically, I’m afraid to have sex with my husband. He’s always loved my vagina. He even has a shirt that says: I love my wife’s vagina. What if having sex with me now is like f**king a bowl of Jell-O Jigglers? That is not at all hot, especially if they’re green Jell-O Jigglers. I’m not saying my vagina is green, but I’m sure it’s jiggly. I shook it a little when I had looked at it in the mirror and it definitely wiggled when it jiggled. Vagina’s should never jiggle.
I am going to leave work early and go to a yoga class. Getting my body in shape might help make me feel better and then I can work on getting Drew to help out more around the house so I’m not so tired all of the time. Drew doesn’t work tonight so he’s home with the kids all day. Maybe a little bending and stretching will get things back to where they’re supposed to be, and I won’t have to worry about the lips of my vagina hanging low and wobbling to and fro. You should never be able to tie them in a knot OR a bow.
Chapter 4 – Downwind Lapping Dog
“HE CALLED SHIT, POOP!”
I laugh out loud and put up my hand so my daughter can give me a high five.
I can’t help but laugh whenever Veronica quotes her and her brother’s namesake movie: Billy Madison. We are curled up on the couch together, watching the best movie of all time, and Billy is asleep in his swing a few feet away.
Jenny walks in the door a few minutes later. Actually, she limps in the door and hobbles across the room until she makes it to the couch and sits down on the other side of Veronica, giving her a kiss on the head.
“Mommy, you gots a boo-boo?” Veronica asks her.
I stare in horror at Jenny as she pulls the footstool closer and props her leg up on top of it, leaning back into the couch and pulling Veronica onto her lap.
Oh my God. This is it. This is the fake injury. How should I play this? Should I call her out immediately and tell her she’s a big, fat liar? Wait, never call a woman fat. Especially after pregnancy, even if you’re just joking. Lives will be lost. Maybe I should just play along and keep my cool.
“Yes, mommy has a boo-boo,” Jenny replies with a sigh.
“HA HA! YOU GOT HURT!” I yell.
Jenny gives me a dirty look and I quickly wipe the smile off of my face.
What the f**k was that? I shouldn’t be happy if she’s injured, right? Play it cool, man. Play it cool.
“I mean, that sucks that you got hurt. You hurt yourself. That’s just sucky. I mean, because you know, you hurt yourself.”
There. Much better. Be calm, be cool. She’ll never know you suspect anything.
Jenny’s dirty look never leaves her face and I start to squirm. “You couldn’t have picked up a little today? This house is a mess.”
I look around at all of the toys on the floor and the dirty dishes on the coffee table.
“We were busy watching movies,” I explain.
She turns and looks at the TV, noticing for the first time what we’re watching.
“You have seriously got to quit watching this stupid movie. Veronica doesn’t stop quoting it as it is,” Jenny complains with a sigh.
This worker’s comp fraud has already changed her! She used to love this movie. Nooooooooo!
“So, how did you hurt yourself? You know, when you really hurt yourself,” I ask, folding my hands in my lap and acting concerned.
She can’t know that you know. What if it’s like that TV show, When Animals Attack? She might just come at you, bro.
“Well, I decided to leave work a little early and try a yoga class. It turns out I’m not as flexible as I used to be,” she tells me.
Is yoga her code word for something? Is that what she’s calling “sticking it to the man” now? I wonder if she has a group of minions working for her, helping her with this elaborate lie. Yoga – yeah right!
“I tried doing that Downwind Lapping Dog thing and I twisted my ankle,” she finishes, resting her head on the back of the couch and closing her eyes.
See? I totally caught her in her lie. Downwind Lapping Dog isn’t the name of a yoga move. It’s a Chinese proverb or something, like, “He who fart in church sit in stinky pew.” I think it goes, “He who is downwind of lapping dog make bump-bump in pants.”
“So does Claire know? Did you tell Claire? What did Claire say?” I question.
“No, why would Claire know? After class I just wanted to get home and put my foot up. I haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet.”
Ahhhh, so she’s biding her time, formulating a plan. I got ya.