Well, this is humbling. Today, Amber Rose — AMBER! ROSE! — brought me great comfort.
When Baby Nom was born, it was via an unplanned c-section after he was a week late and the midwives were all, "Hmm, let's get you checked out." And, SURPRISE! He was breach. I was not pleased at this oversight. And I got ten different people across eight hours asking me, with furrowed brow, like I was an idiot if I was sure I hadn't felt the baby turn and, gosh, he was head-down three days ago. No. No, he wasn't. He was in the same goddamn position b/c I had been telling them for months that he was spreading my ribs open from the inside out with his arms (I was mostly amused by this, actually, my little strongman — or woman — we didn't find out his gender beforehand) and the pressure was always in the same uncomfortable place.
My internal monologue was all, "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! YOU PEOPLE DIDN'T NOTICE THIS WHOLE TIME THAT HE WAS BREACH!! BECAUSE, NO, HE ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY DID NOT "TURN" OVER THE WEEKEND SO FUCK OFF WITH YOUR CAN'T-TELL-A-HEAD-FROM-AN-ASS." You know, between crying, because obviously, I fucked up the very basics of being pregnant. Something so routine and natural, even OctoMom managed to do it.
And then they gave me an epidural and fifteen minutes later Baby Nom was born, healthy and safe.
But, yeah, he WAS breach and they only figured it out from a sonogram. I knew it. But good luck getting a straight answer from anyone at the practice that a butt or a head could ever be mistaken for the other by three different midwives. (When I asked one of them three weeks before how come it felt like a rock was under my diaphragm, she chuckled and said, "That's just a really hard butt." A really hard butt? My ass.)
I actually get that it’s an honest mistake but the parade of people talking at me like a dipshit that didn’t notice a turkey rolling over in my uterus was incredibly insulting.
So, thank you, Amber Rose, for making me feel less alone and incapable today.