My Little Memory

It's been four months since my daughter was born.  Due to one leg being stuck over her head, she was unable to turn around and I had to have a "section."  Wasn't it called a "C-Section" in the past?  When did the C become obsolete?  I heard doctors use the full name—cesarean section—but if they abbreviated it at all, it was just plain "section."

I really didn't want to have baby-delivery surgery.  I wanted to keep my innards intact and push her out like a good mom.  I wanted to do the huffing and puffing and complaining about the painfulness of labor and all that good stuff for hours on end.  But after an unsuccessful "version" procedure—short for "external cephalic version"—to try and turn the baby around, it was looking like a "section" was the way it was going to go down.

Not ready to give up yet, lots of other hokum followed, including trying to stand on my head, eating nothing but daises for a day, visiting three popcorn stands in alphabetical order and a good measure of thinking really hard at the fetus to turn around.  Eventually, I was resigned to having a surgical delivery.

I didn't want the scar, I didn't want the pain of recovering from the surgery, I wanted to do the right thing and go the hard route and have the baby the way my body was suppose to have it.  What I got was a small scar, a very easy and quick delivery, a recovery that wasn't nearly as painful or as difficult as I expected.  In short, it wasn't that bad and I can understand why women who have had one cesarean, would be ready to have another one the next time.

Still, scar.  Ugh.  Was I destined to never wear a two-piece bathing suit again?  As it turns out, no.  The scar is so low down, even the most revealing of suits wouldn't even show it.  Not that I'm going to wear a skimpy suit.  But still...  So now I look at the scar and it's just my little memory of delivering my daughter, not the body-marring mark I was expecting it to be. 

The Big Boy Update:  LOUD.  GOOD GRIEF HE IS LOUD.  He's a happy baby, and he's got a lot of energy.  But he has no indoor voice yet.  We're working on him being reasonable when he talks or wants food at the table, but it's going to be a bit of work in the next months to work on both his volume and his manners. 

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  Yesterday I asked my husband which child he wanted and I'd take the other one with me for a while.  He said he'd take my son because there would be "less troubleshooting."   I couldn't stop laughing.  She does cry sometimes and you're not sure what the problem is.  But it's not that way for me.  I usually know what she wants.  I suppose the more time you spend with a baby, the more you know what they want or need.

Right-size Countdown:  11.5 pounds to go (Three week weigh-in and we're staying on track.)