Carter runs over and pulls the dog off of Gavin by its collar.

“Heeeey, why’d you do that? We were having fun,” Gavin complains.

“Uh, he was trying to pee on you,” Carter tells him.

I look at him like he's insane and he just shrugs. “What? I panicked. I can’t tell him what humping means,” he says quietly.

Gavin lets out another excited yell and once again, we find the dog hugging onto his shoulders and thrusting his h*ps behind him.

“Hump, hump, hump. I’m gonna pee on you! Hump, hump, hump!” Gavin chants as the two hop around the room and Carter tries to separate them again.

“Obviously you’ll want to have him neutered as soon as possible,” Madelyn states with a straight face.

Gee, you think? The dog is trying to breed with my son.

“All aboard the choo-choo train, all aboard the choo-choo train, WOOT WOOT!” Gavin sings with the dog happily enjoying his caboose position.

“Carter, get me the hose.”

23. Scittly Scat-Scat

Five months later.

“Last chance to change your mind. You’re sure this is what you want to do,” Carter asks as he starts the car and backs out of the driveway.

“I swear to God if you ask me that one more time, I’m going to straight up murder your ass. It’s like you want me to wreck my vagina,” I tell him.

Today is the big day. The one I have been equally dreading and looking forward to: my scheduled c-section. We are on our way to the hospital now so I can get checked in. Carter has been questioning my decision to have a repeat c-section since the day the doctor asked me about it six months ago.

“It’s not that. I just want to make sure you don’t regret never having the experience of actual childbirth. I’ve heard that some women who have c-sections get really depressed because they didn’t get to know the joy of pushing their child out,” Carter explains.

“I’m sorry, who are these women you spoke to? Did you make a trip to a mental hospital recently? What woman in her right mind would regret that her va**na didn’t turn into a gaping, bloody wound with bodily fluids pouring out of it and a baby clawing its way out, sometimes ripping and tearing until her va**na and as**ole are just one big disgusting abyss?” I ask.

“Forget I said anything. I just want you to be happy,” Carter states diplomatically.

“Some women take a dump on the birthing table when they are pushing their kid out. Do you really think that’s an experience you want to have?” I question. “I’ve heard the nurses make quick work of cleaning it up before anyone notices, but you’ll notice. Believe me. How can you NOT notice the room suddenly smelling of fecal matter?”

“Stop, please stop,” Carter begs.

“I am very happy with my decision. And you should be happy that six weeks from now, banging me won’t feel like waving a stick in a cave or dipping your pinkie into the Grand Canyon.”

“Okay, I get it,” Carter says as he pulls into the hospital parking lot.

“Thrusting a pencil into a fireplace...shoving a piece of straw into a barn door,” I add.

“Why am I getting turned on right now?” Carter asks as he finds a parking space and we get out of the car.

“Are you into scat play? You’re not going to make me poop on you at some point are you? Tell me now so I can give you this ring back.”

Carter ignores me as we get into the elevator and make our way up to Labor and Delivery. But I will not be ignored. Oh no, I will not be ignored.

“Scittly scat-scat, do bop dee scat!” I sing as we walk up to the nurse’s station and hand them my admitting forms.

The nurse gives me a funny look so I feel it's only right to explain to her my song choice.

“My fiancé wants to me to poop on him,” I tell her. “Scat-scat, dee didily bop!”

“Oh Jesus, I’m sorry. I don’t know what has gotten into her this morning,” he explains, shooting me a dirty look.

“It’s perfectly fine.” The nurse laughs. “It’s just nerves. Believe me, I’ve heard worse from other women checking in.” she told us.

What nerves? I’m not nervous. I’ve done this before. Piece of cake.

“We’ll just get you settled into a room down by the O.R., start an I.V. of fluids, and have you fill out your registration forms. The doctor will come in and talk to you as well as the anesthesiologist. I’ll stop by after that to give you a dose of Bicitra to drink. It’s a small little cup of liquid that will help if you happen to get nauseous during the procedure. After that, it’s go time!” she says excitedly.

What the f**k have I done?! Turn back NOW!

“I changed my mind. Maybe I do want a black hole for a vagina. How bad could it be? I wouldn’t need to carry a purse anymore. I could just shove things up my twat. ‘Oh, you need a pen? Hold on, let me check in my vagina. What’s that you say? Do I have a flashlight? Let me stick my hand up my vag and find out.’ Let’s go home. We could do a home birth in the bathtub. It might be a tight squeeze but I bet we could both fit in there,” I ramble to Carter.

“Can we get some morphine to go?” I ask the nurse.

She just chuckles as she shows us to the room and gets busy typing things into the computer while Carter pushes on my shoulders to get me to sit on the bed.

“Everything is going to be fine. Take a deep breath,” Carter tells me.

“They are going to cut open my stomach and pull a human out, Carter,” I whine.

“I know, babe. I’m nervous too. But you’ve done this before, and you know exactly what to expect. You know what it’s going to feel like, you know how long it’s going to take, and you know what the end result will be...finally being able to see our baby,” he says with a smile as he leans down and kisses the top of my head. “At last we can find out if we’ll have a Carmela or a Tony.”

“Oh I don’t think so. We’ve already had this discussion and we are NOT naming this kid after some ass munchers on the Sopranos. Get that thought out of your head right now,” I tell him.

“You are such a killer of dreams, you know that?” he complains.

~

“Just remember, Carter, when the baby is out, we’ll have you come down here to the foot of the operating table so you can take pictures and watch your little one get cleaned off, measured, and weighed. But don’t forget, whatever you do, don’t look at Claire,” the doctor warns.

“What the hell is he talking about,” Carter whispers, leaning down by my ear.

I'm strapped to the operating table with my arms stretched out in a T on either side of me. A huge, blue drape is attached to two I.V. poles on both sides of the table and placed strategically so I can’t see past my boobs. When I had my c-section with Gavin, I wondered what the big deal was of putting this drape up. Maybe I wanted to see what was going on down there and make sure they didn’t screw up. Then a few months later, I had watched a c-section on the medical channel and I almost threw up. NOT something you ever want to see being done to yourself, mark my words.

“I’m pretty sure they just don’t want you to look over at me with my guts hanging out all over the place and freak out,” I tell Carter.

“Okay, Claire, you’re going to feel a lot of tugging now as we get the baby out,” the doctor tells me.

I definitely remember this part from the first time. Not painful, but really f**king weird. Like someone is grabbing onto your stomach skin with both hands and yanking it all over the place. The fact that I know there's a doctor shoulder-deep inside my stomach right now is what's more painful.

Carter sits on a stool right by my head next to the anesthesiologist and keeps smoothing a few stray pieces of hair out of my eyes that have escaped from my hospital cap. He continues to ask me how I'm doing and kisses my forehead every few seconds, telling me how much he loves me and how proud he is of me. He is so strong, and I am once again reminded of how lucky I am to have this amazing man in my life.

“Okay, Carter, get your camera ready. When I say the word, you can stand up and aim your camera over the top of the sheet to take a picture,” the doctor says.

“Try not to get my internal organs in the picture. They don’t photograph well,” I tell Carter.

He fiddles with the digital camera and gets it ready. I look back at his upside down face and see him smiling from ear to ear. Everything about this past year from the good and the bad to the ugly is all worth it because of this moment right here. Carter had missed out on seeing the birth of Gavin and that fact still makes me sad. But he is here now and I hope that seeing his next child born will ease a little of that ache for him.

“The baby’s out! And it’s a girl!” the doctor exclaims. “Get your picture, Dad!”

Carter jumps up and holds the camera above his head, quickly snapping a picture before sitting right back down and raining kisses all over my face while I cry.

“A girl? Are you sure? Is she okay?” I ask through my tears.

The next sound we hear is the wail of a healthy set of baby lungs.

Carter laughs through his own tears and continues kissing away mine.

“Oh, baby, you did it! I’m so proud of you. We have a girl!”

The anesthesiologist makes some adjustments to my I.V. now that the baby is out, and I momentarily wonder if would be okay for me to just start chanting “Morphine, morphine, morphine!” really loudly.

“Come on back, Dad, and see your little girl,” one of the nurses says.

Carter gives me one more kiss on the cheek before he gets up and begins to walk around the I.V. pole to make his way to the end of the operating table.

“Carter, don’t forget, don’t look at my―”

“OH JESUS CHRIST! IS THAT HER INTESTINES?? WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT? OH MY GOD!”

I hear the sounds of tennis shoes squeaking on the floor as nurses most likely race to Carter’s side to get him away from the horror show.

“Oh f**k me, did I just step over a tube of blood that is draining out of her and into a bucket? What the f**k is that for?”

When you have a c-section, there’s not much you can do but lie there and listen to the commotion going on around you. It’s not like you could be all, “Hey, Doc, can you give me a minute? I need to get up and check on my fiancé and make sure he doesn’t puke on our new baby.” I had been given a spinal before this thing which meant I was numb from the neck down. I'm not any good to anyone right now.

“They told you not to look!” I shout to Carter.

“That is the number one thing you should never say to anyone! Of course if you tell me not to look, I’m going to look,” Carter says as his voice gets closer and closer. Oh my God, Claire, I think I saw your spleen sitting on your chest.”

The next thing I know, Carter is right next to me holding a tiny, perfectly wrapped bundle of baby. She looks like a little burrito wrapped tight in her white, blue, and pink hospital blanket and pink baby hat on her head.

Carter brings her right up to me and sets her down on the pillow next to my head so I can kiss her cheek.

“Oh my God, she’s perfect,” I cry as I stare at her sleeping face.

“Well, kind of perfect. I think she has Elephantitis of the va**na though,” Carter tells me quietly.

I laugh and reach an arm over to stroke her soft, pink cheek.

“That’s normal. All babies have enlarged genitalia when they’re born,” one of the nurses says as she walks past us to get something from a drawer against the wall.

“Oh yeah, you should have seen the size of Gavin’s balls when he was born. Jesus. He could have fit a small country into those things,” I say.

“Hey, maybe that’s just the way he was supposed to be born. You know, taking after his father and all,” Carter says as he leans down and kisses our little girl’s cheek before kissing mine.

“Okay, Dad, if you want to go with your little girl down the hall to the nursery you can help give her her first bath and give the good news to your family members,” the doctor says. “We’ll have Claire down in recovery in about forty-five minutes. We just need to sew her up.”

A nurse comes and scoops up our little girl and places her in the bassinet with a sign on the end that reads “Sophia Elizabeth Ellis, 7lbs, 10oz.”

I refuse a Sopranos name, but I concede by letting Carter pick an Italian name.

“I love you so much,” Carter tells me, cupping his hand on my cheek and leaning over my head to kiss my lips upside down.

I turn my head to the side and watched the love of my life walk behind the bassinet that holds our new daughter.

When they are gone, I close my eyes and try to enjoy the morphine coursing through my veins and count all of the amazing blessings I have been given. Unfortunately, I keep losing count. As the doctor sews me up, he and the nurses count out loud and it's very distracting. I had asked during Gavin’s c-section what the hell they were doing and I was told that they have to count all of the instruments and sponges to make sure none are left behind. At the time, I thought it would be funny to start saying random numbers out loud to see if it would break their concentration. Two, seven, one, fifteen, thirty-five. But then I had realized it wasn't as funny if it was my body cavity they were losing these things in. It’s hilarious when it’s someone else, not so much if I have to go back to the hospital six months later because there’s a pair of scissors stuck to my kidney or I’m shitting out sponges.

I block out the incessant drone of counting and think about just how perfect my life is now. I can’t wait for Gavin to meet his new little sister, and I am actually excited to show her off to Carter’s parents. It's a toss-up though on whether or not I'm so happy because I know the next four days will be spent getting waited on hand and foot with morphine and vicodin to cheer me up should I ever feel like slitting my own wrists.