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*logorrhoea n pathologically excessive and often incoherent talkativeness or wordiness, prolixity [Gr logos word + roia flow, stream]

blogorrhoea n online manifestation of the above

2010 update: In honour of the New Year, I've decided to have a crack at a 3BT blog. For an explanation of 3BT, visit Clare's original Three Beautiful Things site


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not many people know that

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Today's Fascinating Fetal Factoid: the site and direction of a c-section scar do not (necessarily) correspond to the site or direction of the incision in the uterus, which determines whether one is allowed to have a crack, if you'll pardon the expression, at a VBAC (vaginal birth after caesarean) or simply booked in for an elective c-section at 39 weeks. The person doing the determining will be the consultant, whom I'll be seeing at the Women's Hospital in a few weeks' time, and the meantime I've some hunting to do through boxes to see if I can disinter my notes from March 2004, which I'm hoping haven't been lost in the transcontinental shift, and to send a form off to the Rosie in Cambridge requesting a copy.

While the elective c-section would certainly make scheduling simpler, it's an outcome I'd rather avoid, not because I have any emotional investment in the mythical natural birth experience so vaunted by organic midwives and Para Pool salespeople, but simply because dealing with both a newborn and a boisterous toddler immediately after radical abdominal surgery doesn't really appeal: Becca weighs about 17 kilos and 'don't climb Mummy' is not a concept she's altogether on message with, and being unable to drive or lift heavy things for six weeks just don't seem like viable options just now. Not that I'm stressed about the whole business. Much.

Fortunately my midwife is sensible and supportive: keen for me to try a VBAC, but perfectly happy for my to change my mind at the last minute and have a elective c-section. In fact, I think I may love my midwife. Today I mentioned having my waters broken when I was having Becca and she said 'It makes you cry, doesn't it?' at which I wanted to climb onto her lap and burst into tears, but instead cleared my throat in a very grownup fashion and muttered something like 'well, it certainly wasn't the most pleasant experience of my life, hrumph, hraagh'.

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