D-Day

Pin It It's D-Day. (That's "delivery day," for those unfamiliar with my shorthand.)

Finally. This has seemed the neverending pregnancy, welcome and longed for but exhausting all the same. (I now know why women are more fertile in their twenties.) To make matters even more interesting, we learned that Truitt was breech around six weeks or so ago, and while we've tried just about every method out there, it seems, to get this little stinker to turn, he seems to be pretty happy just where he is. So today Dr. P will at long last remove him from his happy place and make his mommy very thankful indeed.

As much as I am anticipating not being pregnant anymore, a caesarean is an interesting, and not-exactly-fun thing to look forward to. Both Autumn and Lawson were accommodatingly head-down, and thus their births were simple and "natural" by comparison, if you discount the epidurals. I was standing in the kitchen last night at quarter to twelve, chowing down a bagel with cream cheese and around a gallon of grape juice, because I'm not scheduled for surgery until mid-afternoon and I can't have anything to eat or drink after midnight. (As if that bagel will really last until lunch time...) It's traumatic, people. Denying a pregnant lady food? Barbaric! If I hurl on you by accident, I'm apologize profusely in advance.

I'm also being deprived of my usual morning shower....blech. It wouldn't bother me so much, except there are no lotions or deodorants allowed after a shower the night before. Instead, you have to use these really nifty wet wipes laden with some sort of cold, sticky anti-bacterial mess that will hopefully protect me from staph. That's the theory, anyway.

While I must also avoid any attempts at making myself more lovely with the aid of cosmetics, I am permitted to brush my teeth--provided I don't accidentally on purpose swallow any of the toothpaste in an effort to quiet my growling tummy. Clean teeth: that's a good thing. You can handle anything life throws at you provided your teeth are clean, right?

Into the midst of all of these terribly inconvenient deprivations, though, will rise a thin, welcome cry. Into the painfully bright lights of the operating room will emerge a baby, blinking angrily at being pulled so summarily from a warm, dark womb into such a cold new world. It's okay, though. Although I won't be able to hold him for a few hours, his daddy will be there to soothe those wounded feelings.

All in all, pretty worth the loss of a couple of meals and a single hot shower.