Bittersweet

I was induced with my oldest. Eighteen hours of intense back labor that ended with an emergency c-section when his heart rate started to go funky.

With my second, I wanted to try a vbac and so we scheduled the csection for a week after her due date, hopeful that she'd decide to come on her own sooner. I went into labor the day before my due date and even upon arriving at the hospital, I had every intention of pushing that girl out. Walked the hospital floors, hunched over in pain as contractions ripped through my body. After several hours of labor with absolutely NO progress, docs were concerned about her wellbeing with the issues with her cord and heart... so to the OR I once again went. 

Whoever said a c-section is a cop out on giving birth is an idiot. And that person obviously never experienced major abdominal surgery after full-blown labor. Being as I did that twice and subsequently felt like I got a pretty shitty deal, when the docs asked when I'd like to schedule my c-section, I said "I'll take the first one available please." 

No panicked drive to the hospital. No fighting to sit still through fist clenching contractions, terrified I'm going to move and be paralyzed the rest of my life. No aftermath of both labor and surgery. No labor. Period. 

I was gonna walk into that hospital, hop up onto that OR table and chat with the anesthesiologist about the weather. 

Two years ago, two in the morning and still two weeks away from due date, I turned over and tried to tell myself I was having Braxton Hicks. By4am I finally gave up and admitted to Kenny that I was in labor. 

But it was a school day... The kids needed to go to school and daycare and I really needed to just wrap up a few things up for work. I got up. Called my mom so she could head down. Made lunches for the week. Threw some laundry in. Jumped in the shower. Froze in place when a contraction came. 

"No big deal, I can do this for another couple hours until mom gets here. Hey! Did my water just break? In the shower? How convenient is that?!"

But when I saw the blood, everything changed. Something was very wrong. I blinked and Kenny had both kids next door. I blinked and we were at the hospital. I blinked and was laying on the OR table, nurses whispering to the doctors to above me. I blinked and heard a healthy, pissed off cry. I blinked again and the nurse was whispering in my ear that there had been a placenta abruption (no need to gross you out, just look it up), but that they got him out in time and my baby was JUST FINE. 

And that, my friends, is how my baby came into this world. Ruining all my chances for a relaxing birth experience. 

Pending any crazy miracles, he is for sure bound to always be the baby. He's my mamas boy. He's my blue eyed towhead. He's my little dimple cheeked love. He's my terrible sleeper. He's my great eater. He's my crazy arm dancer and funny fake laugher. He's my tester of sibling patience. He's my tester of Mama patience. He's my "you're lucky you're cute." He's my snuggler and hugger.

He is my bittersweet. 

Each of his firsts is the last first. Every year is another step away from having an innocent little child who sees no faults when he looks at me and whose only concern in this world is the current location of his Mama. 

And as much as my back can hurt from carrying him around while making dinner and doing laundry... As much as I would love to use the bathroom without a blonde head in my face asking if I went "poo poo"... As much as I look forward to consistent nights of sleep without a tiny voice calling for "mama" simply because he woke up and wants a hug... I know there will eventually be a day when I'll miss this. 

And I'll look back and feel like all I did was blink.