Four years ago today I was packing a bag for the hospital. I went to get my nails and toes done. I had a bath and tried to get everyone ready, the Little Bird included, that a little baby would be joining our family the next day.
The bag was smaller this time around, as I didn’t feel the need to pack my life. I knew what to expect this time around. I had opted for the cesarean and was very comfortable knowing that there would be no surprises.
You see, I qualified (is that even the right word?!) for a normal vbac (vaginal birth after cesarean), but it was the words “as long as the baby is about 7 pounds” that had me jumping to sign on the dotted line for option A: elective cesarean.
Both pregnancies were very different, as they usually are. I felt so heavy and was positive this kid was going to fall out on a daily basis, so I wasn’t ready to gamble on a weight of 7 pounds. I knew what to expect now from the c-section dance. So that’s what I did.
In the early morning I would walk into the hospital smiling and – I’d like to think – glowing! I think I even waved as I said good morning to the nurses on the pediatric floor. They laughed and asked if I was there for a cesarean, to which I responded yes.
I was ushered to my room, where I got ready and waited for a nurse to butcher my arm while trying to insert the IV. I remember D eyeing the floor and looking at me, some of the colour drained from his face as he mouthed, don’t look down. Apparently my blood was everywhere!
But that did not diminish my mood. We were having a baby! And after all was cleaned up, and my IV was finally done right, I made my way to the OR, received an epidural, lay down on the table and the doctors arrived. The whole think didn’t take too long at all, compared to the first time around.
The Little Mouse was curled up under my ribs, so they had to apply some pressure to get her out of there, which made me feel sick, but aside from that, we were officially parents of two little girls as of 8:44 a.m. on the morning of February 11, 2011. The Mouse weighed 5 lbs, 12 oz, which the doctor said she was surprised she was so little.
Not sure if that was a dig at me or the size I was, but I didn’t care.
She was beautiful. Tiny. Perfect. She looked like D, but with less hair. She made these tiny squeaky noises, which earned her the title of Little Mouse.
My mom brought the Little Bird in to meet her new sister and while I think she wasn’t quite sure what to think, I could cry seeing the two of them together. I cherish those pictures.
That seems like forever ago.
And now the Little Mouse is a curious, energetic, spunky little girl who isn’t afraid to sing when she wants, curl up on my lap when she wants or give hugs and kisses when she wants. She is affectionate, happy and giving. She loves her big sister and I love to watch them play together.
I noticed over the holidays that the Little Mouse likes what the Little Bird likes; there is a bigger desire to watch Family Channel shows with her big sister, instead of Treehouse shows. She loves to play with her dolls and babies, Monster High and Ever After Dolls. She LOVES markers and colouring, even though she always ends up with marker all over her hand and sometimes even her face. She loves puzzles and little Lalaloopsy dolls. She loves Disney Princesses and Frozen is still holding strong in our house.
I can’t believe that you will be four tomorrow. You have no idea how much you have changed my life, and are a part of my heart. Our family is complete with you in it.
And I wouldn’t change that for the world!