So I Don't Forget

The other night I told Kharisma to go get her pajamas on and she impatiently said, "Just a minute, old lady!" to which I replied, "Hey, I'm not an old lady!"  Then, in her sweetest little voice and her head cocked to the side, she batted her eyelashes and said, "But old ladies are nice!"  Bah.

Just today she was putting on about 7 different chap sticks/lip glosses that she found in my purse and put on my gold hoop ear rings that I wore for my Halloween pirate costume. She sat up on the couch, straight and tall saying, "I'm a lady." I laughed and asked her what ladies do. She thought a moment, "I don't know... hit with their purses."  Haha!!

Photo Dump!

Random pictures...

Sweetest little track suit... cheap from TJ Maxx

Of course, Willum wanted in on the pictures.

Kharisma said that Willum needed a check-up, so she doctored him up.

At the fair last month. We've been every year since we moved here.
This was the first year without our dear friends, the Claytons!

This is how you do your hair when you are going to the county fair and rodeo.

Hot dog=fair food

Kharisma got to ride some rides. She hopped in the truck
even though the other girls were already there, but luckily they were
super sweet to her. She automatically thinks that everybody is her friend. 

Sleepy boy.

On her way to school with her new backpack.

This is a very rare sight... Kharisma randomly fell asleep. Curled up on her chair in the middle of lunch time!

Baby buns!!

Don't ask.

Went to the apple orchard and pressed our own cider!
We went with our friends, Abby and Shilo Sprouse and their sweet boy, Ellis.

And, cupcakes. Ben made them. I made the mistake of buying some cupcakes that he did not find satisfying, so for days he talked about cupcakes and searched the world wide web for the perfect recipe and then finally, late one night, he made them. Good for him.

Looking back...

18 months ago I had this little munchkin.

I love him SO much.

(Don't mind the goofy look on my face, I wasn't ready)

He seriously has stolen my heart. Willum is such a sweetheart. He gives hugs and kisses and cuddles and likes to be held. His smile is just too cute. He's healthy and happy and perfect.

Yet, when I think back on his birth I feel like something is missing.

I started watching More Business of Being Born on Netflix and it goes in to more depth on childbirth in the United States and it has really done something to me:

1) Rekindled the flame inside me of wanting to be a doula

and

2) Makes me feel cheated on Willum's birth

I know, I shouldn't complain, I got a healthy baby boy out if it.

Why should it matter how he got here?

But it does, to me, anyway.

I just heard someone (on the show) who had a c-section say that they feel like they don't have the right to complain or even talk about their c-section because the outcome was what was more important. I think that's how I feel too. I even find myself telling people that I HAD to have a c-section. In reality, I didn't. Willum was just coming out feet first. He was fine, no health problems. I don't blame my midwife, she has it in her contract that she doesn't deliver breech babies at home.  The reason I did have a c-section is because nobody around  here would deliver a baby feet-first. OBs aren't even trained anymore how to do it.  

It's very possible. It's been done before. 

Watching the show has brought back all these feelings.  

I could go in to all the details about the differences between Kharisma's natural birth and Willum's surgical birth but that's not what I'm dwelling on.  I just can't get over the feeling of not experiencing Willum's birth. I don't feel like I was there, I just feel like it happened. I know there are people out there that love c-sections and that's fine, I love you, I don't care what other people do, as long as it was their choice. I'm all about women being able to choose and know their options.

The feeling is just so hard to explain.

Call me crazy :)

I know I usually don't make such serious posts but I have all these thoughts and feelings I couldn't think of a way to get it out.

Anyway...

I won't let all my crazy show.

Maybe I'll just write it down in a notebook. 

The old-fashion way.