Why I am not allowed to take Percoset

Here is the long awaited tale of woe.

Ten-and-a-half years ago, my Husband was in Law School. We were living in an expensive-but-nice basement apartment in Sugarhouse. We were also expecting our first child. Our friends were done with school, and had purchased a home. We had dibs on their inexpensive-but-nice apartment right off of Foothill Drive. We moved in two weeks before the baby was born.

Junior was a beautiful baby - he was chubby and rosey and loveable. For a while, I thought he had red hair - it turns out his head was just really red.

When he was a few days old, my family came to visit - it was also the first time they'd seen our new apartment. I was feeling well. My labor was pretty easy, and, except for a few stitches from an episiotomy, I wasn't that sore. (Attention TMI Police: If you are offended, I'm not that sorry. People have babies - it gets messy - get over it). My doctor had prescribed Percoset for the soreness.

My brother, Stuart, thought Junior was okay, but was really impressed by our new apartment. It had a big kitchen/dining room/living room with a mirrored wall. It was a walkout basement, and we had our own little backyard. And, it included a microwave oven. This wasn't just any microwave oven - it was ginormous - you could probably defrost a turkey in there. It must have been one of the first microwaves off of the assembly line. It was a classic. Stuart was amazed. "You could fit the baby in there!"


I replied, "Yes. I could. I will have to take this sleeper off first - it has metal buttons."

After that, it was decided that I should try ibuprofen to manage my discomfort, and that, in the best interest of all involved, the baby and I should be closely monitored for a while.

And THAT is why I am not allowed to take Percoset.