The Prince's sister delivered a beautiful baby girl on Sunday. Exciting news. And it reminded me of my own special delivery experience--
The Rabbit was born via a Cesarean section. Granted, scheduled C-section because she was breech (stubborn even in vitro...) but nonetheless, for all those who have had one (and our numbers are growing rapidly....) we're talking major surgery -- and the creepy kind where your innards are on the table and you're awake enough to know. Sure, it's a lovely morphine-induced awakeness, but still, you know.
So moments after I am sewn and stapled shut (oh yes, staples....think the kind that the cable guy uses to keep the cords off the floor. Gross - right?) I am pushed into a tiny waiting area to my gorgeous new creature and....seven family members (both mine and The Prince's) snapping pictures of her and me, both drooling. Lovely.
My father happens to be of the medical persuasion, so at some point his skills kick in and he shoves everyone out -- which they want to anyway because the baby is now leaving and of course she's a far more interesting show than me, drooling in a green cap and gown. So off they go, and I am then left in a hallway, yes, still drooling, for about an hour. Alone. Really.
When I finally get to my room, the gypsy caravan is still there, and stays there for more snaps, some snacks, and I suppose drinks would have been splendid had Nurse Ratchett not finally appeared and marched everyone out.
This continued for days. Don't even get me started on the afternoon The Prince's best friend showed up, in town for a conference, brought a bucket of chicken to the room for him and The Prince (applesauce was about all I could imagine eating...) and watched television as I dragged my swollen body to the shower and tried not to glance anywhere south of my neck.
By the day we left, I had sent orders that anyone who showed up within a one-mile radius of our apartment for the first three days would be spat on Exorcist style by not just the Rabbit, but me as well. This dove-tailed well with the whole new-crazy-mama cliche.
This happy memory came back to me last night as we chatted about his sister's own C-section. And I realized should Baby Due ever become a reality, things will be done very differently. I'm hiring a bodyguard and a bouncer for the hospital room. Anyone who wants in will have to be on the guest list -- one limited to those nice ladies in white who brought me pain meds when I buzzed.
The Rabbit was born via a Cesarean section. Granted, scheduled C-section because she was breech (stubborn even in vitro...) but nonetheless, for all those who have had one (and our numbers are growing rapidly....) we're talking major surgery -- and the creepy kind where your innards are on the table and you're awake enough to know. Sure, it's a lovely morphine-induced awakeness, but still, you know.
So moments after I am sewn and stapled shut (oh yes, staples....think the kind that the cable guy uses to keep the cords off the floor. Gross - right?) I am pushed into a tiny waiting area to my gorgeous new creature and....seven family members (both mine and The Prince's) snapping pictures of her and me, both drooling. Lovely.
My father happens to be of the medical persuasion, so at some point his skills kick in and he shoves everyone out -- which they want to anyway because the baby is now leaving and of course she's a far more interesting show than me, drooling in a green cap and gown. So off they go, and I am then left in a hallway, yes, still drooling, for about an hour. Alone. Really.
When I finally get to my room, the gypsy caravan is still there, and stays there for more snaps, some snacks, and I suppose drinks would have been splendid had Nurse Ratchett not finally appeared and marched everyone out.
This continued for days. Don't even get me started on the afternoon The Prince's best friend showed up, in town for a conference, brought a bucket of chicken to the room for him and The Prince (applesauce was about all I could imagine eating...) and watched television as I dragged my swollen body to the shower and tried not to glance anywhere south of my neck.
By the day we left, I had sent orders that anyone who showed up within a one-mile radius of our apartment for the first three days would be spat on Exorcist style by not just the Rabbit, but me as well. This dove-tailed well with the whole new-crazy-mama cliche.
This happy memory came back to me last night as we chatted about his sister's own C-section. And I realized should Baby Due ever become a reality, things will be done very differently. I'm hiring a bodyguard and a bouncer for the hospital room. Anyone who wants in will have to be on the guest list -- one limited to those nice ladies in white who brought me pain meds when I buzzed.
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They stay on the list.