I hate rainy summer days. Here in Columbus there are far more outdoor places for kids than indoor places to play. And so, needing to get Cordelia out of the house to run out some energy, we went to the mall.

It was packed, and the play area looked like a science lesson: atoms (kids) racing around at high speeds, occasionally colliding into each other. Pure chaos. My friend Lisa and I turned our two toddlers loose into the fray.

Going to the mall is always a good excuse to people-watch, and sadly I always find people that I shake my head at. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure some of them are just having bad days, and I’ve had my share of bad days when people probably thought I was an awful parent. But there are things I still shake my head at. Today’s examples:

– Moms so wrapped up chatting with their friends about going out drinking the other night that they don’t keep an eye on their kids, as they wander out of the play area, hit other kids, or dig through diaper bags and strollers that don’t belong to them.

– Children who throw food at other kids as they pass by their stroller in a store. And the mom who simply says, “Honey, don’t do that,” as she continues shopping and doesn’t look at the child.

– Kids fishing money out of the mall fountain, pocketing anything larger than a penny and then throwing the pennies back, all while the mom watched. I’m not making this up. The money in that fountain goes to a local charity, and these kids clearly believed they were deserving of charity money. The mom thought it was hilarious. One kid was even counting his loot to see if he had enough to get the toy he wanted at KB Toys (the family already had bags of stuff they bought, so they clearly weren’t too poor to shop).

My kid may throw tantrums in the middle of Bath & Body Works, scream her way through the bookstore, and knock things off the racks as we walk by, but at least she doesn’t act like those kids. And I’m a little scared what these kids will turn into, with parents like that.

I’m nearly recovered from my fall down the stairs last weekend. I was stiff and sore for several days, but luckily there was no permanent damage.

Remember how I said it’s likely my daughter inherited my clumsy trait? I’m now pretty sure it’s true. I was planning to have some professional pics of her taken this week, but now they need to wait. Wednesday she tripped over her own feet (a common experience of her mommy) and fell. But she didn’t just fall – oh no, that would be too easy. She had to fall with style.

As she was falling, she twisted her body so the back of her head hit a wooden piece of furniture. And if that wasn’t enough, she grabbed a metal folding chair on the way down, pulling the chair down with her and smacking her in the forehead as it landed on her. The crying lasted for a half-hour.

A simple fall, that would have resulted in little to no injury, transformed into a fall as injury-laden as possible. The goose-egg that resulted on her head was impressive and blue. My mom didn’t want to take her out in public for fear that people would accuse her of beating the child. Today it’s faded to a purple-blue line at the top of her forehead. At least she heals quickly.

I believe I can now conclude that Cordelia has a future of embarrassing, clumsy moments ahead of her. Poor child. As long as she doesn’t trip over her crossing guard stick in 5th grade and break her arm, she shouldn’t be ridiculed too much. (Oh, the torment I had to live through.) Or maybe she’ll just have a visible bruise on her somewhere in every single school picture.

As for going out in public, I now have that covered:

Daddy does stunts in theatre where he doesn’t get hurt. Mommy does get hurt in her stunts around the house. Maybe I’ll learn to be more like daddy.

One post at Blogging Baby really struck a chord with me today. Dutch wrote about the site of an anonymous artist, cesarean-art.com. The artist is a woman who has had two c-sections – the first being necessary, and the second mandatory and unwanted because her doctor would not let her try for a VBAC. No medical reasons – the doctors in the area simply didn’t support VBACs.

Curious, I clicked on the link to view more of her art. And I was floored. The intense images I was greeted with were both horrific and beautiful. I could feel her pain and anger coming through each drawing. Most of all, I sympathized with her.

It still amazes me that women would choose to have a c-section for a normal pregnancy. I’m not saying you don’t have the right – you have all the right in the world to choose your delivery, but personally I think someone who schedules a c-section for convenience is crazy.

Vaginal birth has been around forever, while c-sections are relatively new. Sure, there are cases where a vaginal birth is not possible, and then a c-section is medically necessary. After all, fewer women die in childbirth today thanks to the c-section. (And better sterile conditions, but that’s beside the point.) Cordelia was one of those medically necessary cases. She was a complete breech, making a successful vaginal delivery risky at best. For her safety, the C was the way to go.

But a c-section is major surgery. There are risks of clots, risks of infection, risks of bleeding out, and risks of pneumonia if the fluid in the baby’s lungs isn’t suctioned properly. The healing time is longer and more painful. You never realize how much you use your ab muscles until you have them sliced. Suddenly the most simple of movements – turning to the side, coughing, laughing – become major endeavors.

Many hospitals and doctors are ridding themselves of the option of a vaginal birth after a c-section (VBAC). There is a slightly higher risk of uterine rupture with a VBAC, which makes the VBAC about as risky as a c-section. But many doctors don’t like uncertainty – they like to have control of the situation, and a scheduled surgery is far more controlled than a naturally laboring woman, so they prefer to push for the c-section. Hospitals, knowing that vaginal births are far more unpredictable, don’t like the liability factor, and so they ban VBACs to keep their insurance down.

My heart goes out to this artist. She was not given a choice, and had to suffer through a repeat c-section because it was more convenient for others. As someone who has had one medically necessary c-section, the thought of being forbidden to have a VBAC terrifies me.

For those of you who have never experienced a c-section, let me describe my experience. First I was suited up in the hospital gown, and the IV was started. Then I was taken to the OR, alone. Aaron was not allowed to be in the room with me while I received my spinal. I was surrounded by a group of strangers, hidden behind masks and gowns, in a freezing cold room. Nothing about this said natural. Once the procedure started, Aaron was brought in. A drape blocked my view of anything past my breasts, and my arms were strapped down to boards to prevent any possible “outbursts”. I couldn’t even wipe the tears out of my eyes.

I had no idea what was going on. I’d occasionally ask, “Is she almost out?” and one of the mask-people would tell me no. Finally, they asked Aaron to stand up and look over the drape to see our daughter born. Even though I begged for them to take the drape down for me to see that moment, swearing that I had a strong stomach and grew up hanging out in a hospital and could handle anything, my request was refused. I did not get to see my daughter brought into this world. I heard her first cry, and caught a quick glimpse of her as they whisked her past me to a baby warmer positioned behind me, where I was unable to see her.

Aaron joined Cordy, and after several minutes she was wrapped up and brought to me. My arms were still strapped down, so I couldn’t touch her. And just as the reality of her presence was beginning to sink in, she was taken from me. “You’ll see her after the surgery!” the nurses told me as she was wheeled away. I told Aaron to go and be with her.

The remaining 30 minutes in the OR felt like an eternity. I was left alone, wondering how my daughter was doing, wondering if she knew how far away from me she was. Once the surgery was complete, I was wheeled to a recovery room, to sit and wait for the feeling in my legs to return.

My mom was there to sit with me, having already seen Cordy. Everyone had been able to look at her longer than me. And now I was stuck one entire floor away from her, unable to see her until I had full feeling in my legs. It was our first separation, and it was more than 3 hours until I would get to hold her for the first time. 3 long, lonely, languishing hours.

Others c-section stories vary, but from the many I’ve talked to, mine is fairly par for the course. We won’t even get into the pain I was in from the surgery. But while the memory of the pain has faded, the memory of being intentionally disconnected from my own childbirth, being kept from my little girl for so long, and the extreme feelings of sadness and anger I had for being deprived of the birth experience I wanted to have are still there. Some people say, “What are you complaining about, you still got a healthy child!” Yes, but we didn’t get the start I wanted.

Cordelia was a stubborn child, but a part of me still wonders if our breastfeeding relationship might have got off to the right start had we been together sooner. Maybe she wouldn’t have cried so much in the beginning had I been there those first 3 hours to show her that the world was a safe place, and not a cold harsh place full of poking, prodding hands.

I am thankful to this anonymous artist. She’s helped me deal with my own negative feelings surrounding my c-section. For those who have read this all so far, I say kudos to you for being such troopers. I know this is a sad and depressing post, but it feels so much better to finally express how I feel. I love my daughter more than anything, and I’m so grateful to have her, and I know that in my case a c-section was the best choice. I have these negative feelings and my scar, but they are a small price to pay to deliver Cordy safely.

But I also now know how hard I will fight for a VBAC when the time comes. Seeing the resistance others have faced, while remembering my first experience makes me even more determined to see it through. Barring any medical emergency, my next child will be a VBAC. I will participate in birthing my child, I will hold that child right after he/she is born, and I will not let anyone try to talk me out of it for their convenience.

After being gifted with stuck reading my “Dear Google” help post, I now want to turn the tables to ask all of you for help.

I’m bored.

I’m bored with my header image and tagline. It was very nice to begin with (and I still am eternally grateful to Blog Makeover Diva for her amazing facelift work), but now I feel my tagline is just a little dull. It doesn’t really describe all that this blog is, or all that I am. Maybe I’m just hitting the 7-month itch, but I need something new, beyond just a blog facelift. I need to brand this baby.

Worst of all, I have nothing to put on a t-shirt. Because, of course, it’s all about pimpin’ da blog at Blogher! I need a logo, or a catchy saying. I’ve managed to put together shirts for others, but not for myself. But summer is here and my mind has turned to mush, and so I’ve decided to make this into a pseudo-contest and get help from my brilliant, witty, talented readers.

The Pseudo-Contest:
1. Give me a suggestion for a new tagline, or if you’re less the wordy-type and more the graphic-type, suggest a new logo (if you are able to design it, even better!). Hell, if you come up with a better name for the site, I’ll consider that as well!

2. Either post your suggestions here, link to them from your site, or e-mail me with your ideas.

3. Winner(s) will be chosen by myself.

4. What do you win? You may choose a shirt for yourself or your little one from my Cafepress store. Right now there are only two designs – if the “Woman, Daughter, Wife, Mother, Blogger” shirt doesn’t quite fit your personal set of labels (like, say you’re not a wife, or not a woman), I’d be happy to re-do the shirt to whatever labels you would like. Plus, if you’re attending Blogher, I will gladly buy your first drink. (More stuff may be added to the prize winnings, if possible. I’m poor, and we’re still waiting on Aaron’s job offer.)

That’s the details for now. You’ve got until my 30th birthday, which is June 21. I hope to reveal the new tagline/logo/whatever on my birthday.

So help a mommy blogger out and give me some of your creativity. You’re all smart people, you know my blog well, and I know you can help me better than Yahoo! Answers could.

A little help here, please?

Browsing through my sitemeter is a terrifying interesting activity. I especially love seeing how new people find my little blog. After all, I rarely earn enough credits to get much exposure on BlogExplosion or BlogMad, and unlike big-name websites, I have no marketing budget for advertising. Many hits to my blog are thanks to Google and it’s semi-omnipotent search engine. Google provides a wealth of information just by typing in a question and pressing submit, and more people than I thought possible use Google to ask questions on nearly any topic imaginable.

And so, based on some of the Google searches I’ve received, I’d like to provide a little assistance to those who are searching for help in the virtual world encyclopedia. Clearly there are a lot of people out there relying on Google searches to find the answers to their life problems. Just consider it giving back.

Benadryl dose travel with toddler
This is probably the #1 Google search that brings people to my blog. I guess I’m not the only one who panics at the idea of traveling in the car or plane for 6 hours with a cranky baby or toddler. That bottle of Benadryl looks so tempting, doesn’t it? Let me keep this simple for you: don’t do it. Don’t dose your kid with Benadryl hoping they’ll sleep, because if you’re like me, Murphy’s Law will come into effect and you’ll be left with a now cracked-out toddler with saucer-eyes who can’t sleep and screams to hear her own voice.

Oh sure, only about 10-20% of kids react this way to Benadryl, but are you really willing to play this game of Russian Roulette? Because if it ends bad, it ends very bad, and you’ll wish you had not given this drug to your screaming monster child at all.

But, if you won’t take my advice, then at least know this: it’s usually 1 tsp. Don’t OD your kid.

only child vs. siblings
My #2 most popular search string, this one is clearly bothering a lot of people as well. Do we have 2 or more kids or be like the Chinese and stick with one? It’s certainly easier to just have one: less cost, and hey, with no aunts and uncles, then you won’t have to worry about having the crazy aunt who buys you cake mix as a gift.

I was an only child, and unlike the stereotype, I did not grow up to become an antisocial, selfish, spoiled brat. Yes, I had moments of feeling very lonely, but I also never had a sibling to annoy the hell out of me. My husband has a little brother, and while they fought a lot as kids, they’re now closer than ever. So there are pros and cons to both situations.

I’m pretty sure Cordy will have a sibling. It’s far cheaper and far less hassle to have only one kid, but Aaron and I both want another child. We want the experience of having a multi-child family, and I am clearly clinically insane and want to go through pregnancy and have an infant again. Besides, with two kids we have double the chance that one of them will become rich and famous and take care of us in our old age.

how to shake butt like Shakira
Um, OK, first you need about 15 years of bellydance lessons. Then some low-rise pants and skirts, and abs of steel (which should be a result of the bellydancing). That should just about do it for you.

Won’t take milk juice water from sippy cup
It took us forever to get Cordy to drink from a sippy cup. She refused it for months. Then when she did give in, she forced us to hold the cup for her while she drank. I am happy to say that at 19 months she was finally holding her own sippy cup and drinking from it.

So give it until 19 months, and then come ask me for advice. Oh, and if you could tell me how to get her to drink from a straw, I’d appreciate it. Because the kid won’t give up the sippy cup now.

toddlers hitting mommies
My beautiful little girl has a hard head, strong teeth, and a wicked backhand. I’ve been slapped around, bit, and headbutted more than I care to admit to. Sometimes she means it, but often she doesn’t realize she’s hurting me. My technique is generally to get down to her level, give her a firm “No [hit, bite, punch, kick, karate chop]!” and then move away from her for a minute or so. Generally she cries, but then after a minute I go comfort her and explain that hitting hurts.

the story about the woman that was put on a boat as a child that came here this week?
…what?!?!?

Q-tip stuck in baby’s nose
Go to the hospital or urgent care. Go directly to the hospital or urgent care. Do not pass Go, do not rely on the internet for self-help guides. And find better ways to pick your child’s nose.

poop diaper blow-out stories
Wait, people look for these kinds of stories? Clearly you’re either a sick person who’s not a parent, or a parent at the end of your rope facing a rotavirus looking for some company with your misery.

baby einstein bad dreams
I totally understand. They give me bad dreams, too. Especially that duck.

I think that’s enough public service for today. But have no fear, I am still keeping track of those Google searches, and will be back another day to lend some support to those who have no one else to turn to but the little search box on Google.com.

And for those not seeking help, a cute picture: