Batshit Crazy

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I am completely batshit crazy. Do you want to know how I know? I’m seriously considering having another kid! If that doesn’t say straight jacket and mood stabilizers, I don’t know what does.

The day that we found out our third child would be our third son, I excused myself as soon as possible, went somewhere private, got into the fetal position and cried and cried and cried. I love my boys with all my heart but I was really hoping the “last one” would be a girl. My husband found me and immediately blurted out “we can have more!” He would do anything to make me stop crying.

That was the first time I thought, hey we could have one more. I always wanted three or four kids…

My first two are exactly two years and three months apart. My middle and third are exactly two years and three months apart. Completely unplanned but once baby boy got close to that seventeen month mark the baby mania began taking a hold of my brain again. My husband talked me down from the ledge and we decided that two years old would be a good time to revisit this subject.

The baby is now two and I’m dancing on the razors edge.

Here I am past infancy and in quite a lovely groove with these three. Three which turned out to not be as horrific an ordeal to manage as I envisioned before having them all. A fourth would be like an extra scoop of ice cream in my banana split and who wouldn’t want that, right, RIGHT?!?

However I am terrified of the actual process by which another one would have to come through me. You see based on my previous deliveries, this one would be a scheduled cesarean section. I would have my tubes tied and the adhesions which have already reproduced themselves taken care of. That’s a lot of bang for my buck. Yet the surgery scares the first post pardom crap out of me. Especially the anesthesia.

During my last emergency cesarean section I had a horrible reaction to the anesthesia. In the operating room the anesthesiologist gave me something that sent me into convulsions. I asked him what it was and that he not give that particular thing to me again. He did not take me seriously and in the recovery room he gave me more and walked away, nowhere to be found.

As I convulsed uncontrollably and my blood pressure skyrocketed, the nurses and my midwife spoke calmly, urging me to try to slow my heart, to control what was happening. It seemed like an eternity but, I was finally able to calm my body which then broke out in a full head to toe rash.

By comparison, this reaction did not happen during my first cesarean delivery where the anesthesiologist was absolutely brilliant and caring. So in order to move forward with any plans I feel I must first find a surgeon and anesthesiologist who will honor the fact that I know my body far more intimately than they do and in turn will take me seriously.

Why would I intentionally want to do this to myself again? Half way between a good groove and bat shit crazy, this is where I find myself.

About The Author



I am a food allergy mama of 4 boys, a former fashion designer, and a master of the five point palm exploding heart technique, keeping it Fantastico.

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