Saturday, December 8, 2007

Decisions, decisions

I've never been very good at actually making decisions. I am one of those people who potter through life seeming to be in the right place at the right time and things generally work out fine. I've only ever had one proper job interview (for my current job), and even then the job spec could have been written to be my ideal client-side job so there wasn't much of a decision to be made.

However, I have found that during my pregnancy not only does one have to make decisions but that, just when you think you have finally made one, you talk to someone or read something or circumstances change such that the decision you had been so certain of yesterday does a 180 degree turn and you now, quite passionately, believe in the opposite.

I found I have made two complete changes in the last couple of days, and am rather surprised at myself for it.

The first is on the birth itself. Having swung from wanting a c-section to finding the whole idea horrible, I am now back to the idea of a c-section again. This has mostly to do with the fact that I am a bit of a control freak, and as my blood pressure creeps ever higher, the chance I will have one increases as well and so I would rather decide to have one now than have uncertainty for the next few weeks. However, it also has to do with dogged pragmatism. Even if I end up in natural labour, the pesky blood pressure means that at the first sign of stress on my system I will have a c-section anyway. Now, I am fundamentally a lazy creature and the idea of spending a few hours panting, pushing and generally putting in a lot of effort only to have to be cut open anyway rather seems to me like a wasted effort. A bit like spending 40 minutes on the rowing machine when you aren't training for a race. It's just a bit pointless. So, I am back to thinking that if the balance is that I will end up having a c-section anyway, I'd rather just make the decision and get on with it.

The other is on breast feeding, where I have been resolute the whole way through that there is no way that I will breast feed. This is a hugely emotional topic, on which everyone has an opinion. My opinion has nothing to do with any feminist desire to reclaim my own body but rather that it seems, well, all a bit icky and ever since my sister told me about bleeding nipples I have decided that there are some things that one just shouldn't bother with. However, in the past couple of days I've found myself thinking that it might not be too hideous. I think as the Bump gets bigger and becomes more of a person, the idea of her and what she needs (rather than her being a mild inconvenience who kicks me a lot) is becoming more and more important to me, perhaps even (shock horror) surpassing my own dislike of personal discomfort. I'm still not entirely sure whether I want to become a dairy cow - and the pics in a book the Boy bought of a woman pumping her own breasts were so disturbing as to make me need a little lie down - but I can at least now see that it might be worth a try.

It also rather suits me that, often, women can't breast feed for a whole host of reasons so it would actually fit in quite nicely with my overall ethos not to make decisions. Give it a go and if it is fine then do it and if it isn't then don't. Ah, I seem to have managed to turn this into another decision I don't actually need to make. Phew.

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