Manicure Roulette, or You Get What You Pay For... Sometimes

I thought I was going to have a great Saturday when hubby announced that he was goin' fishin'. At the crack of dawn, with glee in my heart and sleep in my eyes, I happily drove him down to the beachy suburb where the 'boys' would be meeting and collecting their boat for the day.

On the way back, I was positively smacking my lips at the prospect of a husband-free day. No cleaning to do, since we'd recently outsourced that function. No homework to do or papers to complete, since my Masters degree was well and truly behind me. What to do with this new found freedom?

I headed to the mall, skim mocha and mindless celebrity mag in hand, and sought out a Nail Barn. A nail barn is an affectionate term I've given to these over-populated nail salons that appear in strip malls and shopping centres, where you can get a quick and dirty manicure for a steal. Under normal circumstances it would have been a relaxing albeit frugal endeavour, but on this occasion, the lady clipped my cuticles too short!!

Nail salon ladies, don't trim down to the flesh of the (bleeding) cuticle!! That is all.

Welcome (Back), me!

After another long blogging hiatus, I think I'm back.  You know how it goes - job,  job, promotion, dream job, pregnant, lay off, then you fall into the baby abyss... hoping to do this with some more consistency this time.

Choosing a C-Section, and other light decisions during pregnancy

It's funny that once someone announces their pregnancy, suddenly it's everyone's business how that little bundle of joy will enter the world.  With or without drugs?  At home or at the hospital?  At the birth centre?  Will there be a doula?  Will you breastfeed?  For how long?

Oh hang on, it's none of your business!

I decided from pretty early on that I was going to have my baby delivered by cesarean section.  I'm pretty sure I made the decision before I was even pregnant, and certainly, once I made my way through the public healthcare system in my country, I decided that I was, in fact, too 'posh to push'. 

Maybe that's not entirely true.  It wasn't about poshness at all.  Actually my decision had more to do with anxiety and a need for control than anything else.  In my enthusiasm to learn all about the birthing experience I watched an episode (or three) of One Born Every Minute (UK).  I was horrified to see women begging for pain medication and midwives telling expectant mothers to effectively 'man up' and deal with the pain.  These women were asking for epidurals and other wonders of modern science, and, during their most vulnerable moments, they were told 'no'.  So I got to reading about the general experience where I live, and the more I read and discussed with people, the more I saw the drugs-are-bad attitude prevalent locally. 

There and then I decided I was not going to miss my chance to have an epidural because of some midwife's belief in drug-free birthing.  I wasn't going to be guilted into some sort of experience that I didn't want. I couldn't take that chance.  So I mitigated the risk down to zero and chose a c-section.  I read,  I spoke to doctors, peers and friends, and my mom.  And then I made a decision that worked for me.

 Don't get me wrong; I didn't specifically need to know which day or which hour my baby would arrive, so I could plan my schedule accordingly.  The objective of the excercise is a healthy baby and mother.  To me, mental health is a huge part of the experience. 

Fortunately, I had the means and opportunity to make my decision with plenty of support, and in the end, baby came when he was good and ready (about 16 hours before his scheduled time).  I had no real problems breastfeeding, no issues bonding with my son, no complications and my recovery was lightning fast compared to my expectations.

In hindsight, not having a c-section might have been fine, but I wouldn't change my experience for the world. The most interesting part: once the baby arrives, no one gives a crap about how he got here, or how he's eating.