My daughter is 20 months old.
Twenty months ago I was in labor. I was in labor, then got stuck at 7cm only to realize that the cord was wrapped somewhere around her little body.
Off to the operating room I went and one c-section later, my daughter was here.
I didn’t get my VBAC, but I was okay with it. My operation was 100% better than my first and my daughter was healthy. Life was good. I accepted my fate and moved along.
Last night I sat around with a group of women who were discussing childbirth. They talked of pushing and the things they yelled as they got through transition and right before the baby came out and…
I had a lump in my throat. I wanted to cry.
I still long for that experience.
I’ll never have it.
We are pretty sure that we’re done having babies. When I held my little miss in my arms for the first time, I truly felt like she completed our family.
But even if we did decide to have another one, I am pretty certain I wouldn’t be given the option for a VBAC. It would be c-section #3 for me.
I really thought I’d come to terms with my c-sections. I mean, I have, I know I have. I have two beautiful, thriving children. I don’t need anything more.
But when I sit with women and hear their stories? A part of me feels like I broke. My body couldn’t do what it was designed to do.
Then I realize I’m being silly. My body carried those amazing babies. It nourished them, provided shelter as their bodies developed and grew.