Originally published on Sweetspot.ca
After a traumatic emergency c-section with Nate, we wanted to give Number 2 (she will one day hate us for using that nickname) a different birth story. She was planned, while Nate was more of an "Oops!" We decided not to find out her gender. I recall being in the delivery room with Nate and amidst all that chaos being told, "Congratulations, you have a healthy baby boy!" My only thought was, "Hmm, I knew that already."
With Number 2 I opted to try a Vaginal Birth After Cesarean (or VBAC -- I knew I'd be the first to type "vagina" on a Sweetspot blog!) and after several hours of pain and pushing, I frankly didn't care what kind of baby came out of me. I was just so proud that my body had come through for me.
Then I heard someone say, "It's a girl!" and I immediately started crying. I looked at that gorgeous gooey pink mess on my chest and sighed, "Hello Lucine." (It was the name I had carried around forever, like Charlotte in that Sex and the City episode with the baby shower.)
I finally let myself have the pink overload I was craving. And then my baby became a toddler, and she is anything but girly. She screams every time she's made to wear a dress, grasping at the fabric, trying to tear the offending garment off. She plays with her brother's Hot Wheels and Tonka trucks. She even says, "Vroom, vroom!"
Though I feel like I'm betraying who she is, I am cherishing the red velvet dress hanging over her change table, waiting for the holiday parties to arrive. Because next year, she'll have words of her own to defy my desires with... and I'd like to hang on to my girly dream just a bit longer.
Who's that pretty girl in the mirror? I'm still trying to figure that out.