On December 2nd, I waddled into my recently renovated doctor's office. I say "waddled" to help you imagine me, thirty-eight weeks pregnant, 54 pounds heavier, with swollen legs and feet. If I could see past my stomach, I would have noticed my ankles were missing underneath a few pints of water that had accumulated down there.
During the checkup, my doctor had observed that Baby Elle's estimated weight was 8 pounds 8 ounces and felt that my formerly petite frame couldn't handle delivering a baby that could be anywhere from 7-9 pounds.
A c-section was scheduled for 9:00pm.
Saying I felt "disappointed" at first, would be a serious understatement. I had spent the last 9 and a half months convincing my husband I was strong enough to have a medication-free birth. I was so sure of myself I even skipped the chapter on epidurals in the childbirth book provided during labor and delivery class (more on that later).
But after a few minutes of contemplation, as I put on the delivery gown from the hospital, I realized, I'm going to meet my daughter today.
Nothing could dampen my mood after that.
Just finished watching "The Business of Being Born" on Netflix. It was so interesting and you should watch it if you subscribe to Netflix. I never even thought to use a midwife to deliver my baby. I had a terrible experience being induced at the hospital and am pretty sure I want to avoid a hospital birth the next time around.
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