Pooping on the table.
Having to get an epidural.
Those were the two things I feared the most when I headed to the hospital four and a half years ago to give birth to G-tot. After 20+ hours of labor the doctor’s strongly suggested an epidural—which I succumbed to after a mini-nervous breakdown.
A few hours later I still hadn’t progressed enough to push so we went the c-section route. Plus side? No pooping on the table.
I’m nine days away from having another c-section. NINE DAYS. Single digits.
This time I’m scared to leave G-tot behind.
Just thinking about leaving him sleeping in bed early in the morning on September 4th brings tears to my eyes. I know he will be in great hands. I know I will see him as soon as I can. And yet, it won’t be quite the same. I will be coming out of major surgery. He won’t be able to climb up on me and snuggle quite like we will on Saturday night. We will no longer be a family of three.
It will be the end of one chapter of our lives and the beginning of something completely new and unknown. For some reason that makes me weep.
Over the past year and a half I doubted we would ever get to this point. I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to give G-tot a sibling. A comrade. Someone to vent about his dad and me to in years to come.
Now we are just nine days away.
I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around it.
I don’t want to stay in the hospital for days this time. I want to leave as soon as possible and be with my family in our own home. I want to start our new life away from IVs and nurses. I want to create our new routine.
I want G-tot to know I will never love him any less than I do in this moment.
I want to not be scared of the next nine days.