So here I am with children.  No experience, just beating the clock before it beats me.  I, or rather my doctor, drew the line at four.  I would have argued had it not been for his carefully chosen words of caution, “four C-sections are enough…” As a good Catholic girl I had always wanted six, children that is not Caesarians, but I also had not wanted to ever go into labour again after my first excruciating experience with that verb, or is it a noun?   Fifteen hours in labour attended to by my new husband, who I was still trying to impress, and a motley collection of visitors who dropped in during the day to say “Hi”.

Who does that…?

And not a  baby in sight, yet.

I don’t know what wore me out more; the contractions or the effort I had to put into holding court with a smile.  I know, most women claim to forget all the pain they went through to bring their offspring into the world.  Either their drugs were better than mine, or they suddenly got amnesia or they just downright lied because it hurt, it hurt a lot, it hurt more than a lot!  This woman, yours truly, internalized all the pain and made a decision on that third day of October,

“Planned C-sections all the way!”

My doctor said I could go for natural the next time if I wished, I wanted to lash out and hurt him but I managed to restrain myself, since he was holding a sharp object, and quietly told him to keep his thoughts to himself and his knives sharpened.

C-sections suited my personality, I’m a planner, an organizer, a control freak.  Except for my first born I was able to pick the date of each of my children’s birthdays.