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.