My awesome C-section

Tue, 06 Nov 2012 01:00:00 +0000

Five years ago, I prepared for the birth of my son like any self-absorbed, pampered mother-to-be in the city of Portland, Ore., might: I gave up hot tubs, sushi, stinky cheese, Tylenol, booze, wine and coffee, and I told anyone who would listen about my sacrifices.

I spent hours studying my baby’s development on a website called Babycenter.com, which explained that he resembled a sesame seed at week 5, a kumquat at week 10 and a bell pepper at week 18. Perhaps subconsciously inspired by their comparisons, I consumed so many raw vegetables and legumes that I walked around most days enveloped by a noxious cloud of gas.

I attended prenatal yoga, where the instructor encouraged us to gripe for a full half-hour about our blown-out backs and throbbing feet and constipation, and where the other women all pretended not to notice that I was the stinkiest among them, though they all sat at a respectable distance, having realized that downward dog tended to stir things up down there.

The power pregnancy exerted over my body and my brain freaked me out.

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My awesome C-section