I Could Have Had A Baby Today

This post is illustrated with pictures from yesterday's trip to the 63rd St. Beach.
Which was amazingly COMPLETELY DESERTED on a Tuesday morning.

I could have had a baby today.

I mean, there's still time and all.  I still might.  But I could have.

SI playing in the surf

Last week, Baby X was breech and partially engaged.  My OB, without telling me, went ahead and scheduled me a c-section for today.  Because if she was still breech, we'd be doing that.

But miracle of miracles, the baby flipped.  At 40 weeks.  Again.

And now we're back to the waiting game.

...but I could have had the c-section.  And he thinks I should have.  Not because she's unhappy or unhealthy in there, but because he says he's "getting a bad feeling" about this delivery.

Because there is something very unusual about a baby flipping at 40 weeks.

Because there is something very unusual about having a cervix like a rock when it appears that you're carrying a nine or ten pound baby.

DD contemplating the waves

Because there is something very unusual about having such poor uterine muscle tone that you are able to accomodate a rotating baby and plenty of fluids after 40 weeks.

...and so, he says I really should think about a c-section.  Not because of the previous cesarian, but because he's beginning to wonder if I am going to be able to labor this baby out.  Because things seem weird.  (His word choice, not mine.)

I talked to my doctor.  I talked to my doula.  They both asked me the same question when I asked their opinion.

"Do you want to have any more kids?"

And of course, if I do, I should try for the VBAC.  And of course, if I don't, it really doesn't matter.  The problem is that I just don't know.

And so I could have had a baby today.  But I decided to give it another week.  See if things get going.

I don't know why I love this picture so much

Keep eating allegedly labor-inducing foods.

Keep having fun and active outings with the girls.

But now I am beginning to really worry.  To doubt.

And it all seems so important.

I don't know why it seems to matter so much.  Why should it matter at all whether I labor this baby out?  Why should anything matter other than that we both come through it, healthy and relatively unscarred?

It matters because everything seems to matter in parenting.  Everything seems so consequential.

Everything is a choice that you have to make.  Every choice has fallout.  Every fallout brings the need to make more decisions.  And so on.  From the moment you start thinking about how you're going to behave during your pregnancy until, presumably, you die.

DD's grin slays me every time

Until you're wondering if maybe your kid wouldn't get ear infections if they had been born vaginally.  Or if your kid wouldn't have ADD if you'd opted for a c-section and an earlier delivery.

Or if your kid would have gotten into a better college if you'd breastfed for longer.

And it's ridiculous.  But it's there.

I could have been having the baby today.  In one hour.

Instead?  I'm taking the girls to the playground.  Or the zoo.  Or something.

...and I'm waiting.

Carefree