A week ago today I wrote about the birth of my daughter. Today is my son's birthday, and it wasn't nearly as traumatic as was hers.
Back in the olden days of obstetrics doctors figured once you've had a C-section you would always have one. Also back in the day, we good little mothers didn't question our doctors. And so it was that on May 10, 1973, I stopped by my Weight Watchers meeting on my way to the hospital, where I was admitted and scheduled for surgery the next morning.
The nice thing about a planned C-section is you can have your bags packed and your legs shaved before you head for the hospital. Then again, C-sections are major surgeries and the recovery was a lot longer. I was in the hospital for eight days – can you believe it? Who stays in the hospital for eight days for a C-section in the 21st century? My son was there an additional day because he had jaundice; he spent most of his nursery time under a bilirubin light.
Another thing doctors did back in the day was encourage their patients to lose weight during a pregnancy, if the patient was overweight to begin with. Which I was. When I learned I was pregnant, I went straight to a Weight Watcher meeting from the doctor's office, permission slip in hand. I stuck to the program the entire time I was carrying my son, never missed a meeting, gained one-half of one pound (Dr. Goodwin was so proud!) and lost 18 pounds the following week.
Eventually I became a Weight Watcher leader. Hard to believe when I look at the scale now.
And it's also hard to believe I have a son whose next birthday will begin with the number "4"! I'm very proud of him. He's a good dad and husband and works in a field that suits his talents and temperament perfectly.
And considering the poor mothering he received from me, he still speaks to me! Willingly! For that, I'm eternally grateful.