A+B= C-Section?

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Whew. Mixed emotions going on in me for sure now that we are 72 hours to “showtime”. I want to hibernate between now and then and yet, there are a few final details to tend to and… oh yeah… I still have two other kids who need their Mommy to read to them and make their after-school popcorn.

I have spent the better part of this morning scouring the deep recesses of my thoughts on this very unexpected form of delivering my 3rd child. I haven’t ruled out a miraculous last-minute re-positioning of Jack-the-Breecher here, but something deep within me knows (or has known) that this birth, this baby, was not going to arrive like the others.  It makes me grateful for the beautiful natural birth experiences I had with Salem and Mia, and it makes me wonder if there are yet parts of birthing this way that I will enjoy even more. I am relieved I might not have to push this Tanker out. That’s just me being honest, but I can’t help but wonder why all the books and blogs and testimonials urge women to avoid C-sections like the Ebola plague. On Thursday, am I going to think, “Oh, that’s why”?

I have refused to watch any videos of the procedure. So has Clark. Some images we just don’t need burning in our brains. But I deliberately Googled, “The Beauty of Caesarean Birth” this morning and found nothing but one horror story after another. Oh, the irony Holland is scheduled to arrive within 24 hours of Halloween. Sheesh, kid. Your timing.

What I have allowed myself to read in-depth is the “What to Expect” immediately following a C. Here’s the part where I wonder (with respect for my own ignorance), can it be all that worse than recovering from an unmedicated delivery? Heck, running a marathon? I only hope I can maintain my sense of humor and humility enough to admit… Yes. Yes, it is worse. Or perhaps just a different variety of “worse”. At least when it’s over I will enjoy more than just a plastic medal and a warm carton of chocolate milk. I get to meet my SON! My long-anticipated, Holland.

So what if I have a bad drug-reaction? What if I am nauseous and disoriented? What if there is pain and complications? What if I can’t nurse him right away? Or at all? What if my nurse is a total warden and I say something horribly regrettable and lose my Christian witness? What if Salem and Mia need me and I lack the mobility to hold or console them? What if Clark accidentally catches a glimpse of my innards and passes out?

What if…

What if…

What if…

I’ve lost a few winks over thoughts like these. But if I can squeeze past the morbid fantasies for a second and move on to more pleasant scenes, I picture Clark holding our new son in that way that only a dad can– nose to nose where Baby looks at least 2 times smaller against his man-hands.

I imagine what it will be like for Salem and Mia to meet their baby brother for the first time. Will it scare them? Will they remember this? Will Salem be more impressed with my IV and beeping monitors? Probably. And that’s okay.

I imagine missing Holland’s nightly kickboxing routine. I finally turned to Clark last night and said, “I’m pretty sure this kid is playing jump rope with with my large intestine.” I think I might miss that.

Bottle or breast, I picture being the one getting up in the middle of the night to feed Holland. Clark might, but… Let’s be honest. Who are we kidding? Then again, it is my fantasy, and in my fantasy world, Clark gets up at midnight while I sleep on my good ear. (Seriously, WHY are women the only ones capable of nursing? File away in: Questions I Have for My Coffee Chat with God.)

I picture boxing up most of Holland’s newborn clothes by next week because only other women deliver 6lb babies and get to swallow them up in NB onesies. Evidently, only my kids come out with beards and voter registration cards waving a sign that says, “BIG Baby on Board”.

There are a few other little fantasies that are still blurry, and I may forget them altogether, but I hope there’s enough gratitude in my IV drip to keep me from missing out on the beauty of bringing a child, our son, into the world on Thursday… even if I do have to be turned inside out in the process.

After all, isn’t that motherhood?

{Image via Joy Phipps}

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