I spent the whole month of April living cesarean awareness month and not talking about it.
The lack of writing I’ve done lately on my blog is in direct correlation with the crazy my life can take coupled with a need to pay attention to my son while he is still the only one here.
April is cesarean awareness month- something I feel gets overrun by other subjects but, yet, one in three births is by casarean here in the US.
As was several of Wonder Boy’s friend’s births.
I’ve written about my cesarean here several times. I had a hard time coming to terms with mine and just when I felt confident in my decision, months worth of thinking ‘ am I doing the right thing’ finally came out of me as my belly expanded beyond the comfort zone.
A couple weeks ago I sat with my husband and son in the doctor’s office, list rotating through my head over and aver as we went through the standard procedure.
When it was my turn to ask questions, I could barely ask my upcoming cesarean (a must for my local hospital and a choice made by Mr. Wonder and I) and started crying.
All of the months, the worries, the stress finally came to a point, even though up to the moment I opened my mouth, thought of it calmly.
Choosing a repeat cesarean was not an easy choice, and on a regular basis I worry about if it is the right choice because of the pressure to VBAC and the unknowing if I could, maybe, do it this next time.
Through my tears I saw the doctor look at my husband for his reaction. He knew it was an emotional subject for me, he knew why I wanted to ask those questions and was there to support and hear the answers too.
Because I needed to be as prepared as possible.
Because I needed it to be different.
It’s hard to be prepared for any kind of birth- all of the booklearning, studying, talking and planning can be thrown out the window in an instant.
Having a planned cesarean is about the only way to be able to plan ahead- I’ve known my son’s intended birthday for months.
Recovering will not be easy since we now own a 2-story house- I will be taking over my son’s playroom because it’s the only room downstairs that can be made dark and quiet.
Good luck not stepping on Duplos at 3 am right? At least there’s a shower downstairs. And goodbye swimming in the pool all summer- something I have to shove a few more sessions in before the baby comes with Wonder Boy.
My back hurts less in the water anyway, but it is exhausting swimming with this massive belly.
Five weeks from now I will be holding my son, hopefully with happy bliss in my heart instead looking through the world through a cold mist of trauma.
The memories of Wonder Boy’s delivery and the nights in the hospital, not even close to sleep, staring out into the cold hospital room.
Staring at the thin red line and scared I would split open.
Falling apart a little more than I thought.
I will be healing two scars this time.