After my husband and I were married, I ran outside to meet him at the front door every day in the evening. After being away from home for twelve long hours, it was exciting to see each other. I’d run and jump into his arms.
Then comes baby!
The first pregnancy was easy on my body. I was much younger than I am now and my body had not yet experienced the trauma that is birthing a child.
[RELATED: I don’t Remember Giving Birth]
It was easy to recover, to bounce back. Even after the first c-section, I saw hope in my then-near future. Breastfeeding my first baby was thankfully easier than I had read about. In all honesty, I have to attribute it to the amazing man I married. My husband was so encouraging and helpful during the process. I never thought about giving up. I never arrived at that moment of desperation or disappointment because from the first moment we had our baby latch on, my loving husband was there to encourage, help, and praise.
My loving husband.
It was with his help, for obvious reasons, that our little baby girl was in this world. Marriage is absolutely beautiful. In my opinion, the most romantic moments have also their most embarrassing counterparts. I covered the mirrors in our bathroom before I showered the first few weeks after the c-section. I didn’t want to see myself. Not because I was ashamed of my body, but because I didn’t want to see what I felt was my butchered body.
“I’m like Frankenstein!” I giggled as tears rolled from my little eyes those first few days after birth.
My loving husband looked at me and smiled. He smiled partly because I’m sure I made him giggle, and partly because I was really trying not to laugh.
Four years & Three c-sections later.
Four years later, we have three beautiful children, all of whom have been born via a c-section. I have an amazing doctor and with her encouragement I have tried to deliver them naturally every time. For reasons I may never understand, a natural birth is something I have yet to experience. Perhaps some day, but I digress.
Three children. Three c-sections. Over four years of being on “mommy mode” and rushing through each recovery period. Every time I undress, I look down. I’ll look in the mirror and see the scar. It is a scar that has been building over time for the past three years. It is a scar that I will always carry with me. The confident woman in me says, it is a scar that says, “I am woman, hear me roar!”
The timid girl I have always been, covers up and wonders how my husband still finds me attractive. I’ll still say it now, I’m like frankenstein. My husband will caress me, show me that he loves me. And all I can yell out is, “I’m frankenwife!!”
I still make him giggle.
This isn’t a post about how awesome he is at telling me he doesn’t see me any different and all that other gooey-mushy stuff. He’ll look at me, says he sees the scar and remembers the pregnancies; the moments we felt life kick inside, and the exact moment that our tiny humans entered this God-given world through a little slice in their mommy. The look he gives me shows me he is still attracted to me. The way he kisses me says he still loves me. The way he touches me makes this butchered up mommy feel once again confident.
I am frankenwife, hear me roar!
The chances of another c-section are most likely in my future. It will not be easy or desired, but it will always be worth it.