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skin like an item unchecked on my to-do list, was the wink from Keith.
    I couldn’t quite get it out of my head.

Chapter 3
    Ruth Finds Herself in Several Uncomfortable Positions
    The last thing I expected was to have my legs open. Again.
    But here I am with Dr. Kim peering at my girl parts saying things like, “Beautiful, beautiful. You’re recovering beautifully.”
    Now, I never really think of my vagina as beautiful, but I assure you any chance of winning the Ms VAJAYJAY pageant ended when Abe came and pushed his way out almost six weeks ago.
    On that fateful day when I thought the pain was finally over and I could close my legs and settle in and bond with my son, I had spent two hours getting stitched up, while Steve got to hold and rock him, politely averting his eyes.
    Now, from my vantage point above the stirrups, I look down, smiling, nodding. “Thanks.”
    “And you’ve been feeling good.”
    “Yeah,” I lie. “For the most part.”
    I didn’t want to mention my daily weeping. It happened every day when Oprah was over. I felt personally abandoned by her as soon as I saw that guests of the Oprah show stayed at some Omni hotel that I would never get to stay at. Sometimes they flew on planes. I had no idea how I was ever going to fly with a screaming baby.
    I cried because the world was the worst place to bring this kid into. Every day on Oprah and leading into the five o’clock news I was faced with this fact. Why did anybody do this? Why had I? I must have been smoking crack. I had injected hormones into myself to make this happen. Maybe the universe had been trying to tell me that I wasn’t meant to be a mom. I had brought all this on myself.
    I cried because I couldn’t stop this stupid calculation. I kept subtracting four weeks from when Abe was supposed to be born. I had a six week old; I should have had a two- week old. I would have been so much more prepared if I had the extra four weeks I was promised when they calculated my due date. Also maybe the epidural is what was causing the colic. That’s what my best friend, Liz, mentioned back in the day when I thought I was going to go the natural route to childbirth. Way before I felt my first intense contraction.
    Not that I was really officially ready to call what Abe had colic. But it was definitely a lot of crying. I was still holding out hope that we were in a bad patch and that he would turn into a Zen baby, a yogi. Hadn’t I taken enough prenatal yoga and done enough prenatal meditation to set the scene in utero for a peaceful baby?
    I cried because when Oprah was over it was still another two hours until Steve came home and took over for me. When he took over I could lie down for maybe two hours, maybe two minutes.
    When Abe first came out and they wiped him off and handed him to me, I looked down at him, with Steve right beside me, and I couldn’t believe anyone so perfect could possibly have come from me. Every mother supposedly thinks this about her kid, but he really was the most beautiful baby ever created. We were so happy. Steve and I both cried and cuddled him. We spent the entire first night in the hospital examining him. We concluded that he was flawless.
    Abe had been the perfect little angel for the first two weeks. This is a breeze I told myself. We had a constant stream of guests Steve’s parents, his sister, my parents and my best friend, Liz. They all came and cooked and marveled at what a perfect little peaceful creature Abe was. He slept so much at first.
    And then right around when Abe should have been born, the day before his due date, the shit hit the fan. He cried and cried. And I thought I was going to try to feed him on a schedule, but it is impossible. The only thing that keeps him quiet sometimes is eating. My nipples are cracked and bruised.
    I think I’ve tried everything. Everyone’s got an opinion. Everyone’s told me about the guy who wrote the book about the happiest baby on the block. I’ve tried all