For those of you not in the know, we were told last week that Baby H (a.k.a., Kid Vicious–’cause he seems to like to stick it to the man) is still head up and that, because he’s kind of a big baby running out of room, it’s unlikely that he’ll turn in the weeks leading up to my due date. He’s also not totally breech, but rather of the “head at 2 o’clock and the rump at 8 o’clock” kind of position, which is most perplexing to me. I have a big bulge most of the time at the bottom of my right rib cage and I get a big bulge in the lower left quadrant of my abdomen. I also get pretty sharp jabs and kicks in my girly parts and major pressure on both sides of my pelvis and hip bones on a daily (hourly?) basis. This position doesn’t sound comfortable at all, but he looked pretty happy during the ultrasound last week, so who am I to judge?
Obviously, a c-section changes all of those images. I don’t really get to labor or triumph over labor. Kevin will be by my side, but instead of coaching, I have a feeling he’s just going to do his darnedest not to let me see the wild look in his eyes as the docs work their magic behind the blue sheet. He probably won’t get to cut the cord, but he’ll get to hold our new little guy once they are finished doing the necessary once-over stuff. I won’t get to hold him at all at first, and he’ll probably be whisked away shortly after delivery to the nursery for a more thorough inspection. I’ll be sewn up and taken to a recovery room? Postpartum room? Hopefully, I’ll be more formally introduced to my guy there and will get to take a stab at breastfeeding. Everything will be more difficult for me in these first days. Not at all how I was hoping it would be and certainly not the way I would have chosen it to be. Just when I thought I was preparing for a vaginal birth, I discover that I have to pack a little more, plan to stay a little longer, and will need a bit more rest and help.
I have to be careful what I pray for these days. Every time someone says to me “You could go any day now! C’mon Baby, give your mom a break and just come on out.” I freak out because unless baby flips, I don’t WANT go to into an unproductive, tiring, and uncomfortable labor–much less one that could be potentially dangerous because of his precarious position. I find myself quietly saying “Only if you turn, Baby. ONLY if you turn!” So I find myself praying for the opposite of what I have dreamed about for months and months, years and years. How very unexpected.
One thing I know is that I’ve been learning more about relationship with my self, my husband, my body, and my life these past nine months. Little life lessons have been popping up all over the place, but one that is probably the most poignant at this stage, is that expectations take a backseat. That it’s impossible to prepare for a given scenario, because that scenario can take the most unlikely of turns.
All I can say is that this girl feels pretty blessed to have a heads up.