Little Green Jewels

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Babies And Junk….A Serious Post. Seriously.

I am pretty sure I have started to write this post about ten different times since I had Lillienne. I did post her birth story on this blog, but I’ll be honest and admit I tried to add some a lot of humor to the post, maybe to tell myself it really wasn’t so bad, and to tell others it wasn’t so bad. But, it was nothing like I imagined, and I feel the what ifs coming on again stronger than ever, and the NEED to read as much as I can get my sticky hands on about birth, VBACS and c sections as the fiance and I hit a point in our lives where a second pregnancy is something we talk about frequently.

I wasnt even aware that the subject of cesarean sections were written about so extensively. Or rather, women’s c-section stories. Obviously I did a bit of reading up on the subject (ie: Google) while I was pregnant, in case it were to come up. Guess what? It came up. But I didnt research it so much as I could or should have, and I didn’t take anything with me but the knowledge of  “If something happens, there is an alternative way they can get my baby out.”  As I do more reading and research, it’s discouraging to think that perhaps I didnt do as much as I could have to avoid a CS and to have an easier, less traumatic labour and birth experience.

We’re planning on getting pregnant soon. After the wedding. And I’m terrified of getting pregnant and having another c section and/or a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After C-Section).  Or attempting a VBAC only to have another c-section, going through all the work of labour only to be cut open.

I don’t think the seriousness really sunk in until several months after birth, but I had an awful labour and delivery. None if it was magical, a lot of it is a blur, I felt drugged up and weak and useless the whole time, and of course the whopper; a failure at the end when I couldnt do what women are supposed to do: grunt and moan and WORK to get their babies out. I tried, but it wouldnt happen.

And then I started thinking about it. A lot. All these feelings started popping up. Feelings like failure. The feeling that I missed that special moment of the Dr plopping a wet baby on my chest and me going “HOLY SHIT!” in my head. Instead, I was numb from my boobs down on a surgical table, shaking like a LUNATIC because I was already in transition and had gone through labour only to be cut open, and when they first took her out I just remember lying there, wanting to throw up, scream and jump up at the same time and SEE HER. I couldn’t even hold her until I was in recovery, and even then I was so messed up on drugs that the moment as I remember it is absolutely NOTHING like it should have been. I felt like the odds had been stacked against me, and maybe it wasn’t my bodies fault. Maybe it could have been prevented.

What if I hadn’t been induced? What if I had waited a few more days, refusing induction 10 days after my due date? Why couldn’t have I been more patient, assertive, and knowledgeable about what my options were? What if I had said no to all the medical interventions, like induction and having my water broken? What if I had hired a midwife or a doula to support and assist me with birthing techniques? Could I have avoided a c-section?  Would I have given birth au natural and had that immediate bonding that I missed out on?

I do feel robbed of the experience of giving birth. I don’t feel like I gave birth to her, I feel like she was cut out of me. I was depressed for a few months after birth, and I couldn’t chalk it up to anything. I had a beautiful, healthy daughter, a wonderful boyfriend, and great family, fabulous friends, etc. And I realize that PPD can just HAPPEN, you don’t need to chalk it up to anything, it can just creep in like water in your basement after a beautiful summer rainstorm. But I realize now what that feeling was, that feeling like failure. That oh I couldn’t do the thing I was designed for feeling. I never acknowledged the fact out loud or to anyone or to MYSELF that that’s why I was sad, because she was in distress and my body wasnt working right and that’s why I had a c section, so I wasnt allowed to be sad about it. Medical intervention had saved her life! But what about the what ifs I mentioned earlier? And more what ifs. What if I hadn’t been induced and just hung on for a few more days? What if I had laboured at home?

But I missed out on my daughters birth. I was there, but I was not there.

I remember my OBGYN telling me shortly after labour, probably at my first postnatal checkup, that I could have another c section if I wanted to with my next pregnancy, or we could try a VBAC. I’m terrified of another c-section. I dont want to be sitting down recovering for 6 weeks again with a baby and a toddler. I dont want to be in pain for weeks again. I dont want to have to take T3’s and not be able to breastfeed again. I dont want to have major surgery. I dont want to have the same experience (minus the labour part, I am assuming) that I had with Lily- missing the immediate skin to skin contact after birth, that feeling of accomplishment.

Ok, so have a VBAC and shut up, right?

So. I’ve been reading up on VBAC’s and hospitals and Drs and I’ve ordered a few books and been googling away again. There’s a 1% chance of uterine rupture during a VBAC., which isnt huge, but it happens, and it can be fatal for Mom, Baby, or both. And tons of other things that could happen during pregnancy and labour for women who have had c sections. I’ve also read that some OBGYNS wont even allow VBACS. “Lets just cut you open, it’ll take 20 minutes, I can fit you in after my tuna sandwich this afternoon.” I’ve been reading some disturbing things about birth, and c sections, and multiple c sections and VBACS. Ive been reading some statistics and watching some documentaries and forming new thoughts and opinions I didnt even know would arise,  or that I didnt think would be an issue.  I’ve been thinking about giving birth again and this time I’m not going in with rose colored glasses and putting all of my eggs in one basket. Comments are appreciated.

 

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Giveaway – Two tickets to The Wiggles.

Up for grabs: TWO tickets to see The Wiggles live in concert in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan.

Where: TCU Place

When: Friday, August 5th @ 6:30pm

Why: Obviously

My kid loves these guys. My mother bought her one of their DVDs and Lily goes ape for it. Want to win? Just leave a comment below. One entry per person. Winner will be chosen on July 25th 2011 via random.org

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The Wiggles in Saskatoon! Want to go?

Stay tuned for a giveaway for TWO tickets to The Wiggles in Saskatoon on Friday, August 5th!

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Make sure they are Zesty Cheese Doritos.

Can someone please let me know when I am allowed to crawl into a hole for a day, ALONE, with new books and Doritos?

I need a me day. Soon, please.

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Tim Hortons Camp Day- Its literary gold.

I’m drinking a Tim Hortons mocha, sitting with Dustin and Lily on the couch.

There’s a promo going on at Timmys called Camp Day, where if you buy coffee on a certain day, some of the proceeds go to sending well deserved kids to camp who would otherwise be unable to attend.

Anywho. It says CAMP DAY on my paper cup and as I’m staring at my gorgeous spawn, she looks at my cup, points to the words and CLEAR AS DAY says “Camp Day! Dat says Camp Day!”

Genius. Einstein. I knew she was smart. She can READ! My face exploded into an unbelieving expression as I exclaim to Dustin “OH MY GOD! She said what the cup says!”

I was ready to enroll her into university, order the complete britannica set of encyclopedia and start her on War and Peace this evening. Also, she would need a lot of turtlenecks, tweed jackets and loafers.

Then Dustin starts laughing. Probably because he thinks I am a lunatic/mentally disabled for thinking her 2 year old can read. Little did I know he told her over and over one day that the cups said Camp Day when she asked “What dat say?”

He laughed at me so hard he was crying.

I’m going to kick him in his sleep tonight on purpose.

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60 years and running.

This weekend we are going to Dustins hometown to celebrate his grandparents being together for 60 years.

Isn’t that awesome? 60 fricken years together.

I hope Dustin and I are together for 60 years. I hope we can have a 60th anniversary someday. Although I would be close to ninety by then, and probably a bit loopy. But Dustin would only be like 85 or something so he can totally tell me how much fun I am having while I sit in my wheelchair eating all the pastries and stealing wine from everyone.

60 years together is totally something to celebrate and its a pretty awesome milestone. Like bust out the Grey Goose awesome.

Congratulations, Grandma and Grandpa E. If you’re reading this, WHAT’S UP! YOU GUYS ROCK!

Although I’m sure if they ever read this blog they would be begging Dustin not to marry that crazy woman who swears on the internet.

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