So here’s the thing, I love wood.
This whole mess is all because I love wood. And I had kids. Those two things.
The back story is that every time one of us goes out of town, the other always tries to have a surprise for them when they come home. Sometimes it’s a poster board banner and balloons, sometimes it’s a special workshop for their home business. Are my surprises usually awesomer than his surprises? Probably, but it’s not like we keep score. Also, I’m winning.
Two weeks ago, I came home to a new roof. I hate that I am of the age that a new roof is an exciting gift, but it is. If he would have replaced all the toilets, that would have been a panty dropper.
So last week, while Andy was out of town, I decided to surprise him with a new television console and side tables because what we currently have in our living room is that cheap Sauder MDF crap that scratches if you touch it and bubbles up if you get it wet. Not ideal in a high traffic environment, and with three kids, all my environments are high traffic environments.
Real wood is usually out of my price range, so I spend a lot of time pouring over Pottery Barn and Anthropology magazines, then scouting out old pieces at garage sales, flea markets and antique stores to refinish. If it looks like nobody died or threw human shit at it (you’d be surprised), I buy it.
Last Tuesday I came across an amazing thrift store a few towns over, and found the most perfect buffet to turn into a console. Solid wood, big, storage, gorgeous. I bargained down the price, and backed the truck up salivating at the thought of sanding it, stripping it and painting it a lovely matte antique cream with hammered new hardware.
All those dreams ended when I tried to help Rick, the old guy who was still a touch salty from our haggle-fest, push the fucking beast into my truck, causing something in my stomach to pop, and I looked down to find a thumb pushing out of my belly button hole.
My life went from, oh hey fyi, you have an umbilical hernia so be careful or whatever. To, OMG YOU HAVE AN UMBILICAL HERNIA AND IT’S STICKING OUT OF YOUR BODY AND YOU ARE IN MORTAL PERIL.
You see, having 3 kids in 4 years didn’t just recontour my vaginal wall, but it also separated my abdominal muscles to the point that now my organs pop through for fun. Like the most terrifying Jack-in-the-Box, ever.
I lifted my shirt in horror.
What are you, pregnant or something?
Babies don’t come out through your belly button, Rick. This is like, my intestine or liver or something!
I don’t have kids, so…
Rick called me a pussy under my breath, but to be fair, Rick looks like he has tons of shit probably sticking out of his stomach, and this is no big deal to him. I headed straight to the doctor who determined that, yes, it was a hernia. Yes, I needed surgery. No, he can’t just push it back in. And yes, he guesses that if I promise to mostly stay in bed and not pick up anything heavier than a beer bottle, it’s large enough that I could delay surgery until Monday because I’m having a crazy busy and important week and I’m now one of those people who compromises their own health for other things.
Or, you know, a mother. Whatever. So yes, bedridden and surgery next week. Oh, and I leave for Disney with my whole family in 22 days.
But guys, it’s cool. I actually love having laproscopic surgeries through my belly button until one day it it just looks looks like a weird wrinkly anus.
Because that’s what belly buttons are, anyways. Less functional anuses.
UPDATE 10/14/2013: Awwww yeah! Looks like no lifting and almost 8 days in bed have paid off, surgery postponed! CT on Thursday to check muscle tearing, but seriously, this development is the FOURTH awesomest thing to come from me being on my back all the time!
I TOLD YOU I DO MY BEST WORK HORIZONTALLY, ANDY!