Untitled, for now

Only meeting once a day,
A lovers' rendezvous.
Our time together is cherished;
Not a moment overlooked.

Caress my body,
Stroke my hair,
Take away my shame.
When I am with you,
My troubles melt away.

Scald me.
Tempt me.
Make me new.
I'll use you until there is nothing left to give.

Oh - hot shower - how I love you.
Let me count the ways.

A few things I forgot about having a newborn

The sweet little sounds they make, from grunting when you change them to squeaking when you nurse them to the sweet little stutter-sighs they breathe when they're falling asleep.

The way they curl up on your chest, against your belly, or in your arms like a tiny little tree frog. Somehow, watching them squash themselves against you that way makes you believe beyond belief that you really did carry them for 39 weeks in your belly.

There's a very short list of things that could possibly be wrong.

Somehow, babies smell fresh. I've heard somewhere that it's because they just left Heaven. I'm not sure I buy that, but they sure do smell sweet.

You feel like a million bucks even though you only manage to snag an hour or two of sleep at a time. Under any other circumstances, you'd feel like poo.

Most everything about them is just. . . well. . . peaceful.

I love the look of recognition they get the first time they realize they're looking at mama.

Any time in the last 40 weeks that I was up in the middle of the night, it was a nuisance. Now? It's a blessing. I love, love, love the special, still, sweet moments in the middle of the night that I get to share with my angel. No interruptions. No audience. Just me and my girl.

My love for others multiplies tenfold. Seeing my husband with our daughter makes me remember a million reasons I fell in love with him that I'd somehow forgotten over the course of the last two years.

The way it feels to be completely, totally, genuinely in love with someone you know nothing about.

GO!

One minute post-op.

Four minutes post-op.

Ten minutes post-op.

One hour post-op.

Five hours post-op.

All that worrying for nothing. . .

Set

Well, my bag is packed.

I'm ready to go.

36 more hours to go.

I can't believe it's time to say hello!

Well your family's waiting to welcome you home.

Your room is ready - it's good to go.

In just awhile,

You'll be here in my arms.

So kick me and smile for me.

Cry your little lungs full for me.

I'll hold you and I'll never let you go.

'Cause I'm ready to meet my girl.

Ready to see your little curls.

Ready to kiss your precious face.

Tonight, my first wave of out-of-town help arrived. Aunt Georgie - my mom's middle sister and my mom-away-from-home while I was in college - arrived this evening. She's taking Daniel for the morning on Lia's birth day. They're going to make strawberry shortcake, play with tractors, and do whatever else occurs to them to help pass the hours until Daniel can meet his little sister. I can't believe how blessed we are to have such wonderful family and friends who are willing to lend a hand in SO many ways. My family rocks.

As nice as it is to have a plan in place, I can't help thinking how nice it would be if things would just start on their own. Dr. Abair has said that she wants to give Lia every opportunity to get unraveled and turn. Something in the back of my head (front of my head??) tells me that if we pull the trigger when we're ready to pull the trigger, there may have been a chance. If we cut at 8:15 on Friday, God may have planned on turning her at 8:15 on Saturday. All of that not withstanding, I guess we're all set, regardless of what may happen or what might have happened.

'Cause I'm ready to meet my girl.

Ready to see your little curls.

Ready to kiss your precious face.

Ready

I'm so very ready to have this baby. Not in the "my feet are swollen and I can't stand being pregnant for one more minute" sense. In the "I love the smell of Dreft and I can't wait to count her fingers and toes" sense. I did Lia's first load of laundry last Thursday. The tiny snaps from her onesies were banging out a cadence on the inside of the dryer. I looked at Doug and smiled fondly. I remembered that sound from nearly three years ago, when Daniel was little and still wore nothing but one-piece outfits.

I'm over-the-top excited to meet my baby girl. I'm looking forward to making new memories with her. I'm overwhelmed with a new sense of love I've never felt before - the opportunity to witness siblings bonding for the first time. Being an only child, this is all completely uncharted territory for me.

I've already warned Doug that I'm probably going to lose control in the OR. The moment I hear her cry and know that she's safe, my emotions and fears and apprehension are all going to come out in a flood of hysterics. I know it. I can see the tide coming in, but I don't care. I know too many people who have lost babies in the last 40 weeks. I know too many people who have been through horrible, nightmarish experiences in the last 40 weeks. I've seen too much hurt and heartache and loss. I know that the moment I lay eyes on my daughter, it's all coming out. There's no stopping it. But by God. I'm ready.

Tomorrow, again

Well, I go back to the OB one final time tomorrow morning. I know for a fact Lia has NOT turned. I know exactly where her head is and nope - it has not moved. Last week, I didn't get the answers I wanted. Yes, I have to fast. No, I may not eat afterwards. No, Gram cannot come into the OR. And no, Daddy cannot cut the cord. Worth a shot, right? My .2 pounds was enough to overshadow all of that, though!

This week, my questions are a little bit different. 1.) What time do I have to be where on Friday? Let's do this thing. 2.) What do I have to do to get out of there ASAP? I heard 48 hours. I want 48 hours. I want to be home for lunch on Sunday. 3.) How long do I have to wait before I can wear my baby in a sling?

That's all. Straightforward and simple. I realized today that having all of this time to dwell on the c-section and to prepare for it is probably what's making me so crazy (and irrational). Had they just said, "WHOA! Time to go!" and wheeled me through the doors, I wouldn't have had time to cry, complain, research, blog, and whine. It would have just been a done deal. I can't decide which way is better. Frantic and unaware? Or trying to do EVERY last little thing before we go in?

I decided today that Lia needs a birthday cake. Why?? She can't eat it. I can't eat it. But. That doesn't matter. We're going strawberry picking with our friends on Thursday and I MUST make a fresh strawberry birthday cake for my baby girl for her big day. Maybe I want the nurses to love me? Do I want Daniel to be able to sing "Happy Birthday" to his baby sister? I have no idea, I just know that she must have this cake. Who knows. Maybe I'll understand the why of it later. For now, I'm calling it "the universe of irrationality." For now, it's hormonal and stupid, but it absolutely must be.

At any rate, tomorrow will come again and we'll see the doc one last time before Lia's birth day. Perhaps there's something I haven't thought of, but at this point, I seriously doubt it.

One final note - we went to the beach yesterday. Here's a pic. I love my pregnant belly. I'm sure going to miss it.

Update

Well, she didn't come unraveled, but I did only gain .2 pounds this week. If that's not news worthy, I don't know what is!

Tomorrow

Tomorrow I go back to the OB for another routine check-up. This time I'm prepared with a whole slew of questions. Can Daddy cut the cord? Can I please, please, please at least touch Lia before you take her away? Can Gram come into the OR after Daddy leaves? Do I have to fast before? Can I eat after?

Even though we're still ~12 days away from the big day, I need all of my ducks in a row. It's funny. When I thought the show would start when it started (whether in the middle of the night, the middle of the road, or the middle of the rodeo), I didn't need all of these questions answered. Now that the show has a time and a date assigned to it, I *need* to know all of these minuscule details. I guess because the whole situation is out of my hands, I've become a total control freak. If I can't have it "my way," I must know every intimate detail of "your way."

I hope to hear good news tomorrow. Something like, "You've only gained 3 ounces since last time you were here!" or "Huh. Looks like she might be able to get herself out of this mess afterall," would be nice. I hope to hear yes, yes, yes, no, yes when I ask the questions above. I hope to feel even more at ease about this whole thing than I do right now. A far cry from my rendition of Janis Joplin from last week, but if I can have even a fraction of what I want, it'll do.

Top ten consolations about having a c-section

10. Knowing the time and date of the arrival of my child takes all of the guesswork out of, "Huh. I wonder if we should go to the hospital now?"

9. I have an absolute date and time that I can look forward to no longer getting indigestion from merely looking at food.

8. I get to plan my last meal before labor.

7. I get to enjoy my last meal before labor.

6. I don't have to writhe in pain in front of Daniel for hours (or days) trying to decide if I should head to the hospital.

5. I get to take a shower and shave one last time.

4. I won't have to pack my bag between contractions (thus forgetting my shower shoes and my pillow).

3. We don't have to drag anyone out of bed at 2 a.m. to make a frantic trip to the hospital. Said individuals won't drive like maniacs wondering whether they're going to make it on time.

2. Doug won't have to drop everything in the middle of _____ at work to rush to the hospital and will have plenty of time to arrange for his duties to be carried out prior to his departure.

1. There are 13 days, 10 hours, and 50 minutes until I get to hold a perfect gift from God in my arms.

Which way is up?

Monday I learned that Lia's cord is wrapped firmly around her neck, which is making it all but impossible for her to get into position for delivery. This means I've been scheduled for a c-section for March 18 at 8:15 am. Needless to say, this news totally rocked my world. I was prepared with two lists of questions - a "what if she's turned" list and a "what if she hasn't" list. Neither list entailed any questions regarding a c-section. I just knew she'd either turned or would be able to on her own.

I didn't cry (yet), but it took me a minute to gather my thoughts. My OB walked me through the entire process, lingering on every detail I needed her to. She even hugged me before I left and ensured me that, judging by the ultrasound, Lia is "absolutely beautiful" and "will be worth every bit of it." I know these things. Really I do. But it didn't stop the tears. I got into my car and called Doug. No sooner had I explained why she wasn't turning and what the next steps were that I burst into tears for the first time that day. His concerns were more about our safety - such a good daddy. After we hung up, I called my mom to fill her in as well. Outburst number two. I lost count throughout the day, but needless to say, I cried my eyes out.

Why? What about a c-section has me so turned around that I would cry about it all day? After three full days to mull this over and come to terms with it, it boils down to this:

When I was pregnant with Daniel and nearing the end of my pregnancy, I didn't know what to expect, I had no idea what I was doing, and I was a bit scared. For the last 36 weeks and 5 days, I've been a total pro. I've done this. I know what's going on. I know what to expect. I'm a champ. It's all going to be perfect. As of Monday, that was all a mirage. When it comes down to it, I don't know what to expect, I have no idea what I'm doing, and I'm more than a bit scared.

That's still no reason to cry all day, is it? Well, maybe that coupled with raging hormones and a sudden overwhelming feeling of guilt. . . Guilt, you ask? I've heard SO many moms (and dads, for that matter), talk about feeling guilty about what they're "doing" to their firstborn by bringing a new child into the world. Being an only child, I haven't had ANY feelings of guilt, whatsoever. I *want* Daniel to have siblings. I *want* him to learn to share. I *want* to learn to be a mama all over again. So why the guilt?

For the last several weeks (since I've gotten too big and too pregnant to do a lot of the things Daniel and I do, e.g., climb through tunnels, lift him over my head, throw him into his bed, etc.), my mantra has all but been, "As soon as Lia comes, mama can _____ again." Wow. What a lie. I had no idea I was lying, but the new truth of the matter is that as soon as Lia comes, I can't do diddly squat. For 4-6 weeks, I can't lift anything heavier than Lia? What? I can't climb through tunnels, I can't lift him over my head, and I certainly can't throw him into his bed. I envisioned a whole new world where I wore Lia in a sling and carried on with life as if nothing had happened. Well, nothing except for a perfect miracle to call my own, that is. My vision, and my expectations of being able to give Daniel everything he's been missing for the last few weeks, came crashing down. With it came my ego, my emotions, and my tears.

While I am beyond grateful that we're both ok and there is an alternative that will give us what we ultimately desire - a healthy baby and a healthy mama - I can't help but be a little disappointed. In the end, the day will just be a memory and my precious daughter will have erased all of the disappointment and pain I've felt and will feel over the next few weeks. In the end, how she gets here really doesn't matter. In the end, I'll just be delighted to hold my sweet angel and know that we both did the best we could. In the end, we only have one way to go - up.