Sent in from Pamela, a birth and breastfeeding advocate and mom to two wonderful little boys. Pamela’s most recent birth was a triumphant home birth after previous cesarean.
Belly buttons are a funny thing. I used to love my belly button. I decided at age 19 to pierce it and a little jewel made its home in my belly button until I was pregnant with Julian. It never quite looked the same after having Julian and I doubt that it’ll ever look the same again. Today I looked at my belly button’s reflection and barely recognized the now belly button-turned-volcano sticking out of the center of my body. The baby is so low it almost points down. Julian loves my belly button. I think he thinks it’s the baby, or some pathway to the baby (which, I guess, technically it is) and likes to kiss it, stroke it, and rest his head on it. Every morning he comes into our room, jumps into bed, and immediately goes for my belly button. “Hi,” he says, as though he’s been away for decades. After a few minutes of relentless love on my belly button, I say “that’s enough” and explain to him that mommy’s belly button hurts. We repeat this process multiple times throughout the day. I wonder if he’ll understand when the baby is born that there is no longer a baby in mommy’s tummy and he won’t be mad when mommy’s belly button no longer looks like a sun. “Sun,” he says and signs to me when he sees my belly button. I love that my son is not afraid to kiss the sun. Makes sense, he is my little ray of light.
See the belly button?