Baby-Making 101

Okay, so now I had you all concerned and praying for me on Thursday about my HSG, and then I go four days without a single update. I apologize. Thank you all for praying for us, and sending me all kinds of emails and facebook messages asking how it went. You are better at this than me.

Everything went fine! We drove an hour and a half to the north side of Indy for a test that took about two minutes to do. Seriously, it took me longer to put on the hospital socks they gave me (you know, the cool kind with the traction) than it did to take the test. I guess when you consider an X-ray is just a picture, then click, I'm done. Dr. Henry said everything looked just fine. He told me to call him when I got pregnant. Easy for him to say. :) So, even though we didn't talk in a lot of detail, I guess there is nothing structurally to explain the miscarriages. I don't know that we will ever know, though, so I will take a good test and go forward from here.

Speaking of having babies, why don't I tell you all a little story about how much my 3-year-old knows about having babies? Can I just say TOO MUCH. No, she does not yet know how a lady gets a baby in her tummy, and if I can hold off her Daddy from telling her, as he seems to think, Well, if she asks, I will tell her the truth. To quote the movie, "SHE CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!"

Here is what Abigail knew leading up to this week. I think at some point, she saw a woman on tv having a baby. She asked, "Why is she screaming?" I said, "Well, it kind of hurts to have a baby." She then asked, "Why does it hurt?" And Dr. Daddy Paul said, "Because the baby comes out your noonie." Just matter-of-fact, like she was ready for that load of information. And yes, we call it a noonie. Or nooney. I've never actually spelled it out, so your guess is as good as mine.

As if that little bundle of knowledge wasn't enough for her, there's more. Of course, after she heard it, she then liked to walk around the house groaning and saying, "Watch out, my baby is about to come out of my noonie. Ooooooooh, here it comes!" And then she pulls a baby out from under her shirt. I'm glad that is the worst of it. Or should I say...WAS.

Then, last Monday, my friends Angie and Sherri had brought their kiddos over for a little playtime at our house. Sherri is pregnant with baby #4, and is due in about eight weeks. Her tummy is, of course, quite sizeable. Abigail went over to her on the couch, and was rubbing Sherri's tummy and asking about the baby. Sherri told Abigail it was a boy baby. Then the conversation went as follows:

Abigail: Daddy says he goes in your noonie.

Sherri, shocked: Daddy says WHO goes in my noonie?

Me: She means Daddy told her that babies come out of your noonie. By "he", she means the baby.

Angie: Is there any piece of information that Paul can just wait until she is older to tell her? Does he have to explain everything NOW?

Sherri, to Abigail: Actually, this baby is going to come out of my tummy. (she is scheduled for a c-section)
This is when I can feel panic set in, as I see Abigail taking in this information.

Abigail: How does it come out of your tummy?
(This is like the train wreck that I just cannot turn my head from)

Sherri: Well, the doctor cuts my tummy. With a knife.

Abigail goes on to ask Sherri if it will hurt, will it bleed, yada, yada, yada.

The next night, Abigail came into the kitchen and said to me, "I'm gonna have my baby. Quick, get the scissors." I asked, knowing full well what she meant, "Why do you need the scissors?"

She replied, "Oh, wait. I mean a knife." I told her she did not need a knife to have a baby. Her voice got very insistent, and she said, "But Sherri's doctor is gonna cut her tummy open so her baby can come out!!!"

Oh, and I wish I could tell you that was the only conversation we have had about c-sections this week, but alas, it has not been. Paul is unfazed, and says that she will forget it, as he does not remember anything from when he was three. I told him, oh no, this one has already been seared into that little head of hers. I can only imagine the 'splainin' I'll have to do every single time she sees a pregnant woman. And for that, I apologize in advance.