Off my chest

Ok, I know I always seem to get into trouble when I rant blog about birth, but I just have to get this off my chest.

Our neighbor around the corner just had a baby, her first, earlier this week. (Aside: I don't know when I've ever been happier to hear of a pregnancy; they'd been trying for years, and had actually started adoption proceedings when she finally conceived.) I haven't seen her or the baby yet, but I did get the birth story from the father, who stopped by a little neighborhood shindig last night. He said they scheduled her for a c-section because it was the day before her due date and the baby hadn't dropped yet.

They scheduled her for a c-section because it was the day before her due date and the baby hadn't dropped yet.

The baby was so high up that one of the doctors had to push down on the mother's abdomen to get the baby closer to the site of the incision. They had to use forceps to get her out. The baby was 8lbs 7oz.

Why couldn't they just wait?

* * *

At this same little neighborhood shindig there was another woman there with a month-old baby girl, her fourth child. (Baby's name: Poppy. Is that the cutest?) We were talking with the aforementioned new dad about how hard it is to get used to the idea of oneself as a parent, even when you've been trying for a baby for five years. We assured him that subsequent children are a piece of cake. (Ha ha, I know, but in many ways I think this is true.) Then the other mom talked about how Poppy was born just a few days before our school's annual ice cream social. She went to the social, she said, and laughingly described how weepy she'd been then. And that was with her fourth! Those hormones! She turned to me and asked whether I'd been weepy after my births.

Well of COURSE I was weepy. Who wouldn't be? And must we blame it all on hormones? This is a major life change we're talking about here. Everything is different when you're a parent. Once you were young, strong, independent, and nothing fazed you. Now you are tied to this helpless creature with every fiber of your being. Nine years later and I'm still weepy! Things I wouldn't have batted an eyelash at, pre-kids, make me break down in great, howling sobs. It just doesn't get any more vulnerable than this.

P.S. I don't mean to suggest that hormones don't play a part in mood swings; I know that they do. And also, I'm not talking about postpartum depression-type weepiness, which is a whole nother kettle of fish. Nevertheless.