I am smack dab in the middle of a never ending bad day.
It all started yesterday, when my insurance company told me that they won’t pay for part of the Anesthesiologist claim from my c-section. “Part” being $900.
Why, you ask? Because they think my c-section wasn’t “medically necessary”.
ARE YOU *&%$#@ KIDDING ME?????????
Apparently Emmett’s heart rate dropping from 130 to 50 repeatedly over the course of my labor, including the 2 hours of unproductive pushing, is not anything to be concerned with.
You know what the worst part about this is? It’s bringing up all the unresolved emotions I have left over from my c-section. The guilt, the what if’s, the feeling that I failed my baby and myself. I know I didn’t, but this stupid insurance claim is bringing it all back again. They’re making me feel like I made the wrong decision, like I did something wrong.
Next up. While pumping at work yesterday, in a LOCKED room, someone with a key unlocked the door and walked in. Don’t mind me! I’m just sitting here topless massaging my bewbs while this machine sucks breast milk out of them. Nothing to see here!
And finally, as I was getting ready to go to bed last night, my poor little Monkeyface threw up ALL over our bed and me. Twice. And once again this morning, because the stomach flu has no mercy, even on small and very cute babies.
I’m not whining about all this so I get a bunch of sympathy, rather to point out how well I am holding it together, despite all this bullshit. Yes, I’m complaining about it on every form of social media possible, but have I had a total sobbing till I get Alice Cooper eyes meltdown? No!
The old me would have taken a xanax, crawled under the covers and called it a day.
I’m not sure if it’s having a baby or if I’m finally maturing at the age of 31, but I’m not as much of a wreck as I used to be. So that’s the silver lining to the gloomy cloud hanging over my head.