Child Birth Hop

Prompted by Tricia at Critters and Crayons and Bridget at Twinisms, this is my first ever blog hop and the subject is giving birth. Unfortunately, I didn't give birth - at least not naturally. So there's no tale of woe and pain to tell. Even if I did, it would probably sound wimpy in comparison to Ava's of Grapes and Oranges. How I wish I could say I was in labor for fifteen hours until finally the doctors cracked me open like an egg. But that would be my mother's tale. Of when she had me.

No, I went planned C section - both times. Like Britney Spears. Of course, I didn't get the deluxe package with a tummy tuck afterwards but here's a gratuitous pregnancy shot:

If you're wondering why the photo is headless, it's because it's a shot of Britney. I honestly don't have a single picture of when I was pregnant. Do you feel the love?

So, when you go C-section, there's nothing to talk about except blood and guts - literally. All I remember was freezing my ass off in the operating room and the staff telling my husband not to look behind the curtain that separates us and the action.

Do you see the potential in that? It's like trusting an alcoholic to hold your beer for you.

They proceeded to cut me open. Doctors and nurses with masked faces surround me and they're joking around, as if I'm the water cooler at the office. Their eyes are merry as each go about their duty, looking busy - holding my bladder, scooping up my intestines, yanking a friggin' baby out of my uterus.

The whole time, my husband is stealing glances.

"Wow," he says, "you're really brave."

What the heck does that mean?

Not to make a mountain out of a molehill, but I did feel them yanking Kazuki out of me. As I stared into the face of wonder and fell in love with my baby boy, from the corner of my eye, I could see the doctors and nurses piling my shit back in. It would be cute to compare me to Humpty Dumpty - this is about babies after all - but no, it was more like the haphazard way you stuff strings of Christmas lights back into the storage box.

Actually, I loved my obstetrician. He looked like a benevolent baker rather than the reputable "high-risk" specialist that he was. Dr. Z delivered Isamu as well. I was forty then, and his response was, "What do you say, Ms. Russo - let's have another one!"

 Yeah - no. And thanks for holding my beer.

Zuki hours old

With Samu acting all professional