Oliver's Wish Didn't Come True

I had the most important "mom experience" and I need it to be in writing. Oliver, my oldest became very upset after having a small bout of diarrhea recently. I assured him it was ok and he wasn't sick, he didn't need medicine (seriously one of his biggest fears), his tummy was just a bit upset and he was going to be fine. Oliver looked at me with tears welling up in his eyes and said, "...but mom, I made a wish a long time ago that I would never have diarrhea again. I had an eyelash on my cheek and you took it off. When I blew it off your finger I wished that I would never have diarrhea again and It didn't come true." Trying my hardest to hold back laughter I could see that his little heart was actually broken. This was his first harsh dose of reality. In his life he has seen no tragedy, Santa comes every year, and wishes come true. I couldn't let him lose that sense of invincibility. Not yet. I told him wishes are funny things. They only last so long before they need to be refreshed.  So the next morning, on the way to school, Ollie scoured our neighbors yards for dandelions ready for wishing. He refreshed it twice just in case.  And guess what.  The next time he has a tummy bug we will head right outside and sit and wait until we see a shooting star and give It another go. He will learn one day that diarrhea cannot be wished away. But today, when he is six and wants to become a diarrhea-free teacher/dentist/writer/toy collector, it can.

C-Sections Are Not The Easy Way Out

I recently read a blog post (or a lengthy instagram caption, I lose track) from a mama of three expressing her dismay (while attempting some general positivity) surrounding having all of her children via cesarean.  And since this is my personal blog where I can write about what ever I damn well please, I would like to comment on this at length. The truth is, I'm tired of there even being a question about whether a c-section is "good enough".  I had all 3 of my children via c-section and never once did I feel like less of a mother, or like I wasn't strong enough to have my babies vaginally.  I labored, I pushed, my epidural wore off and the medical team held off pushing more medicine in preparation for a possible c-section.   I felt contractions, I felt hard labor, I saw my baby's heart rate drop on the monitor, I felt faint when my blood pressure bottomed out, and when my doctor announced it was time to prep me for a c-section, I was relieved and a little scared, but never inadequate.  I felt all the joy, terror, pain, excitement, anticipation, and pure love that a mother delivering her baby in her bath tub with a midwife feels. The c-section mama experiences labor before and after delivery. She does. She labors until the only thing left to do to get the baby out safely is to perform major surgery, then she recovers from said surgery which involves slicing her abdomen open, removing her organs then shoving them back in there, unsure if they are in there correctly until she can pass gas (an ordeal all it's own, I assure you), all while caring for an infant. I got my wisdom teeth out when I was a motherless 21 year old and if that came with caring for another human neither of us would have come out too much alive, I'm sure.  So, this infant requires a lot. Holding. Feeding. Rocking. Comforting. Waking. All of which require some type of movement from the c-section mama, and each movement is excruciating. Like, knives stabbing from inside and out. But she does it. She still moves to exactly where that baby needs her to be, ignoring her body's warnings to stop.  Luckily my surgeries were uncomplicated so I cannot begin to comment on the complicated ones, but I will say this. Never, ever tell a c-section mama she "lucked out". Rude. You had an episiotomy and some blood loss, and she had abdominal surgery, blood loss, and a permanent cute little belly flap over her scar. You're pretty even. No more questions. We are all enduring pain, losing sleep, and just trying to keep our tiny people alive and stop them from becoming assholes.