Tomorrow will find me 32 weeks pregnant. Can you believe it? I can’t, but then I get up to pee for the 173rd time each day and and yup, I can believe it. I’m so ready to be done peeing.
This pregnancy has flown by and dragged on simultaneously. One the one hand I feel as though I’ve been expecting this little girl forever, then on the other hand I am completely unprepared to bring her home.
No, my bag is not packed. I actually don’t even have the things I need to pack, my nursing camis from the last two babies disintegrated and the yoga pants I brought to the hospital became rags after being bleach-stained beyond repair.
No, the nursery is NOT ready and it might not be before she arrives. Kel is working two jobs and we don’t see a lot of each other these days. When we do finally have a chance to be in the same room, painting is the last thing on our minds. Usually it’s more like, “hey come sit on the same couch as me, bring the remote. Let’s pass out.”
So I’m not ready, but I know our sweet new daughter will be here soon, just the same.
And if I need to have a friend or family member run to target to buy nursing camis and yoga pants and she sleeps in a pack and play in our room for the first months, so be it.
It’s not even a third baby thing, it’s a life-right-now thing. I’d rather have a sane family, a (sorta) rested husband and space to take it all in than kill ourselves putting together a pinterest-worthy nursery.
The state of our hearts over the look of her room.
However, there is one thing I am extremely ready for.
I’m ready for people to stop judging me about my C-section.
Hi, my name is Leanne Penny. On November 13 I will be having my third C-section and I really don’t want to talk about why you think that’s a bad idea.
At least a couple times a week, this happens:
Person: When are you due?
Me: She is coming on November 13.
Person: Or so you think (wink wink)
Me: Nope, I’m having a C-section so… that’s when she’s coming. Unless she’s coming early, she could. My first one came early, emergency C-section.
Person: Oh…. uh…Really? You aren’t going to try to have a VBAC?
Me: No, She’s breech and my husband and I just can’t get comfortable with a VBAC, we’re not comfortable with the risks.
Person: You could turn her, there is still time for a VBAC! Let me give you the number of my (Doula, Midwife, Chiropractor, Favorite Website.)
Me: No thanks, I’m good with our plan, really, this is the best way to go for us.
Person: Are you sure? Really? I’m just so frustrated that the medical profession pushed you into a C-section in the first place.
Me: It didn’t go like that. My first born’s birth was scary, I did everything to avoid the C-section, she was breech, there were complications and in the end she was still born blue, I’m just glad she’s here all.
Then it moves on from there. But I always walk away feeling sad, angry, defensive, less-than, wussy and stupid.
Not strong enough to do the harder, more natural thing.
I have friends that will post articles about really brave moms who attempted VBACS against all odds because of their passion for their babies
I guess I’m not a brave mom, or that I don’t care about her as much as they do.
Others will post about the links between C-sections and Autism.
Oh, I’m going to give her Autism now too. Did I doom my first two too? They seem to be doing well.
Someone will joke that they could deliver the baby if need be.
And I don’t want tell them she’s breech or that I’ve scheduled a C-section because I truly believe they will think less of me.
Usually I recover from this in a half hour or so and when I do, I vow to make a print out I can use in these situations with all the reasons it was medically necessary for me to start down the C-section path in the first place. How it was the last thing I wanted, how hard I fought it, how much I cried, how I laid upside down on an ironing board trying to get her to turn, how I already felt “less-than” the first time around.
On it I will include, in my defense, the drawer full of cloth diapers in the baby’s dresser, the year of nursing I will have with her, the baby food I will make her from scratch.
Can’t you see? I’m a good mom doing the hard, good work of motherhood!
But you know what? No.
I don’t owe any of you that, if you know our family, you know our story. If we are having coffee, we can chat about it but I don’t need to go public with my backstory to be a good mom or to earn your respect.
You should extend to me your respect regardless.
You should respect that Kel and I know what we are doing, that we have talked, thought and prayed about this delivery as we did with all our babies.
That we have a doctor we trust, with whom we’ve spoken about our choices and options.
That we didn’t take this step lightly, but that we are confident moving forward.
I promise to extend all of you the same courtesy, to keep my opinions to myself and to respect that the choices you are making for your families.
I have no idea what it’s like to be you, to carry your story, to get through your day.
And you know what? I’m sorry for any time I’ve made a comment to the contrary or said something snarky behind your back, you didn’t deserve that either. I, too am still learning.
Even if we make drastically different choices, I believe that we as parents are, for the most part, doing our level best to bring up our children to the best of our ability.
The best we can with the tools we have.
I’m a good mom who doesn’t need to stand and defend that, neither do you.
Carry on parents, I’ll do the same and soon I’ll have smooshy baby pictures to share so stick around.
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