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Given that I’d made it through almost my entire pregnancy without a hemmie, and considering the fact that my little constipation problem (Stonehenge anyone?) had me pushing hard enough to bring them out if they were ever planning on coming out, I thought for sure I was home free. But there was no escaping them. Out they came and out they wanted to stay.

If you’ve never had hemorrhoids before, you’re going to be shocked when you peer around at your ass with a mirror and see the bloated balloon knot that greets you there. See yours for yourself, but let me be the one who describes how they feel.

When you’ve got a hemorrhoid and you go “Number Two,” you’re likely going to get a feeling down there like a sharp pinch. As the poopie comes out, you will think you are passing peanuts. Then as the poo progresses down, you will also think you are passing peanut shells. So I avoided going Number Two until I became so constipated that I was forced to go to the hospital. After I moaned in the emergency room for seven hours, the doctors came to a conclusion: I’m full of shit. I told them about my hemorrhoids, and they prescribed a stool softener.

If you are unfortunate enough to experience these painful little buggers, ask your doc for some stool softeners (but remember not to go to a specialist unless you absolutely have to). It will make those peanuts feel more like peanut butter. Wow—I can’t believe I just said that!

Hi, Porn Star!

(Engorged Breasts)

If you’ve never had breasts before (as in boobs that need a bra), or even if you’ve already got quite a rack, watch out and get ready, because whoppers are on their way!

You probably noticed that your breasts became very sore the moment you found out you were pregnant. It’s true what the books say: The soreness will eventually go away. But be forewarned: The sprawling balloons where your manageable boobs used to be will continue to enlarge.

My breasts became so out-of-control huge and heavy that I actually weighed them. I have a food scale, and I just had to know how they’d compare to a meal, so I plopped a breast up on the little metal tray. Each breast: five pounds. That’s ten pounds of breast. Think of that in terms of chicken and you’ll quickly see that your breasts could feed a family of eight or ten people! Though there are guys in this world who might disagree, to me that’s totally insane! I guess the bright side is that I would rather have ten pounds go to my chest than to my ass.

Not only did my boobs get enormous, but they got that way very quickly. By the end of the second month of pregnancy, I was already out buying new bras. I needed major support to hold up these new bowling balls. But I refused to buy a maternity bra because they looked like they were for Grandma’s big boobs (it wasn’t until a little later that I gave in and went for coverage of Granny’s big ass; recall page 23). So I went to the department store and tried on a 36D. Unfortunately, at that size, they ALL look like Grandma bras. Without an option, I bit the bullet, bought my big ugly bras, and wore them day and night. Yes, I said night, too. I noticed that wearing them when I slept really kept my boobs from sliding around and hanging off the sides of the mattress.

A few months later I was once again shocked as I attempted to put my big, ugly bra on one morning. And it wouldn’t fit. My boobs were at it again. Unbelievable. I just couldn’t believe my eyes. And then I noticed that not only had my boobs grown but my areolas had turned into National Geographic nipples. (You know, those Ubangi tribe women with nipples as big as dinner plates.) And to top it all off they had turned dark brown. Prepregnancy, my areolas were cute, small, and pink. Now they looked like burned pancakes. I was freakin’.

I didn’t care if my husband was having fun with my new giant boobs. I wasn’t going to let him get a look at this. I was totally embarrassed. As far as I was concerned, what I had for him to play with weren’t play-worthy anymore. I needed help. So where does