the fart heard round the world

Blogs are the ultimate form of narcissism aren't they? Every time I go to write something I think of how self-absorbed it sounds, and then I realize that nearly every blog is self-absorbed (or spouse-absorbed or offspring-absorbed.) But such is the world of blogging, and no one is making you read (of course, no one is probably reading either.) :)

Claire turned six months on Wednesday, a small milestone that made me reflect on the first few days of her life. I had a scheduled c-section, a result of a rather stubborn little baby and my complete and total aversion to them trying to turn her inside my womb. Seriously, does anything sound worse? "We will give you muscles relaxers, then try to push the baby head down from the outside. It WILL hurt, and it's not always successful, and even when it is, they often go right back." No Thank YOU. So I knew what day Claire was coming, and exactly what time. I thought this would make it easier to prepare, to enjoy the last few days of freedom with a few trips to the movie theater and dates with Chris. No matter what anyone tells you, nothing can prepare you for the imminent arrival of a human being that you will be 100% responsible for FOREVER.

After some awkward prep with the most awkward nurse ever, the time finally came to go to the operating room. It's frigid. Like a walk-in freezer frigid. Or like the produce section at Costco where I stand and debate every time if I really want to go in and look through strawberries for fifteen minutes to find the best one. I get on the operating table, and they prepare me for the spinal. Chris gasps at the needle. Honestly, I wasn't that worried about this. Needles have never really scared me. So I lean over with my arms draped around Awkward Nurse, and the anesthesiologist puts the fifteen-foot needle in my back. He prefaces by saying that the second he is done I need to flip my legs up on the table before they go numb. Needle in. Pain. Burning pain. It's okay, it will go away. As told, I flip my legs, they are already fading fast.
A moment passes.
Another.

WAS THAT ME? Did I seriously just let out the loudest fart of my entire life in front of all these people?? Oh my gosh, Chris, please, please tell me that is all that happened. Please, please, please. (Thankfully, it was.)

And the assaulter says, "Don't worry, it happens all the time." And I'm like, Oh really, is there a support group for it, because I'm pretty sure I'm going to have PTSD from the pure humiliation.

And in come the doctors. Into a freezing cold, fart-filled room, where I'm giggling like a ten year old boy because I JUST FARTED, and the anesthesia has made me just a little bit loopy and then I'm like, seriously? Who decided I was mature enough to be a mother?

And then in the coming days I realized that this small loss of dignity was only one of the first in a series known as motherhood. Like when the nurse comes and tries to make you walk only a few hours later, and you look at them in complete disbelief because don't they know you were literally cut in half that day!? Or worse, when she tried to take out my catheter and I said, ABSOLUTELY NOT. I will pee in this bed and you can change it because I am not, absolutely NOT, walking to that toilet five feet away to go to the bathroom. (I actually ended up holding it till I was in tears and another nurse had to say, "Honey, having a full bladder on a fresh c-section incision is what is pushing you over the edge. You have to get up.")

Or when your child poops in church or at a restaurant, and starts that unmistakable grunt and her nose turns red and pretty soon you are rushing off the changing room and returning with a naked baby because you just happened to forget a change of clothes that day.

Or when you spend 3 hours a day hooked up to a machine that mechanically milks your breasts because the little fart is a spoiled brat now and sticks her tongue out at formula.

Or when you are THAT person in airport security lines, or on the plane, or in a restaurant, or in church. The person you know no one wants to sit by. The person you know people are probably thinking is just another teenage mother.

People will tell you that it will be so hard, but you will never remember life before you had your baby. That's a lie. You will remember the dates, the freedom to jump in the car and go shopping, the lack of a pouch, taking a shower, sleeping without worry, having a semblance of dignity left. You will remember it, but you won't long for it. Nope, the spit up, stinky diapers, makeup-less days, they are all worth it when you tiptoe into her room and she looks up at you with her big blue eyes and kicks her little feet and squeals in excitement. Psshh, you can have my dignity, Claire thinks I'm pretty cool.