Since MonkeyBoy debuted on Wednesday, I thought it only fair that I write a post about my daughter’s birth. That is after all in my job description – make everything fair amongst children or face subsequent tantrum. I figure if I give the illusion of fair, I’ve succeeded.
Nasia was born, via c-section, late September 2006. She is the sweetest, loveliest little girl that I could have ever hoped for. She is fascinated by the funniest things but only for a given period of time – she just got over the spoon phase. She gets much attention for her beautiful curly hair, and is just the girliest girl when she wants to be. Having an older brother however, has also given her the ability to appreciate a good superhero, and fight with lightsabers. She loves to dance, loves to sing into her pink microphone and if I could clone that child, I would.
Having a c-section was a very odd experience, and one I had to get used to very quickly. Although she had been head down the entire pregnancy, two days before my due date, the baby decided to flip to breech. My gut reaction told me to panic, but my naive ignorance told me otherwise. All I could think about was that this meant an extra night of rest for me in the hospital, and what sleep deprived mommy doesn’t want that!
So how did it go down you may wonder? Here is my c-section synopsis:
- I show up at the hospital starving and pissed at my husband for stopping at McDonald’s on the way (evidently childbirth makes him hungry).
- I wait in a small room with a tv and a toilet and put on a lovely blue gown that makes my fat self look like I am actually arriving for gastric bypass surgery.
- I wait and wait, and try not to get more pissed at my husband sitting there with a full stomach, while i enjoy a lovely glass of air.
- I have a team of doctors – all total strangers (one doctor, a resident who looks 12, and a gaggle of students who look like they should be in daycare, and actually came in to use the potty), arrive to tell me that I may actually die during the operation.
- I drink the sodium citrate poison as I go to the o.r. alone, because my husband has to wait outside and take pictures of himself in scrubs, because that’s as close to being a doctor as he will ever get.
- I sit down on a gurney in a freezing cold o.r. while my ass is out for everyone to laugh at, and everyone keeps reassuring me that everything will be over soon. Meanwhile, I keep wondering if it’s the surgery that will be over soon, or the little dignity I have left.
- I get a freezing shot, an epidural shot, and 2 or 3 other shots in my back while I slowly hyperventilate, and go numb at the same time.
- I lie down on the table, strapped, trapped and crapping myself because I know what’s coming.
- My husband is now in the room, with this goofy look on his face, because he just realized that he’s had to do NOTHING but donate a couple of sperm to the process, and he feels like a total putz because he knows what’s coming too.
- I get sliced and diced, they pull out the babe, who is a WHITE BLOB by the way, all the while my hubby takes a million pictures that NO ONE will ever see, because they involve my guts splayed on a table, and who wants to see that?
So there you have it, that’s pretty much what happened. Of course they closed me up and cleaned me up (via a lovely sponge bath that I highly enjoyed and recommend – thanks to Nurse Christine; I forgive you). Seriously, two years later, and I still think about that sponge bath. In the end however, none of it mattered as soon as I got to hold my little lady. She was a perfectly cherubic little girl that I affectionately called my chubby bunny.
I still her call her my bunny. When she smiles, which is often, you get to see the perfect little gap between her two front teeth. My husband always calls her Lori Hutton (He means LAUREN Hutton – he’s slow on the uptake, what can I tell you). She is a stubborn little thing too, just like her mommy. Actually all of her delightful traits are a direct result of my ability to birth her from my womb.
Coincidence? I think not.