I'm His Genevieve

When you do something as crazy as having a baby at home, on accident... you're bound to get a bit of criticism. 

"What were you thinking?" 
"Didn't you know you were in labor?" 
"Next time... you should go to the hospital 3 weeks early!"

At 7 weeks postpartum, I can handle the flack pretty well. 

At 2 days postpartum, though, I was blessed with the fact that no one was questioning what I had done.
The 911 operator didn't scold me.
Not one firefighter shamed me.
None of the nurses at the hospital reprimanded me.
The midwife, with eyes wide and bright, simply wanted to hear my story.

No one questioned me- and that was good.  Because the last thing that a new mom needs to hear is that she just did something wrong.

Just one person, a few hours postpartum, showed disapproval of what I had done:

My dad.

"Drusie, didn't we tell you that the 2nd one comes faster?  Baby, why didn't you go to the hospital?" 

At first, I was hurt by these comments.  Didn't he know that this was the coolest thing I had ever done?  We were okay.  Nobody was hurt.  In all actuality, it was fun!

And then I realized it:

I'm his Genevieve.

I'm his baby girl, trying to act like a grown-up.  Never mind that everything turned out fine and it was a good story.  Just the thought- the slightest thought-of something happening to his baby girl- was unbearable. 

There's something so precious about having a baby girl.  It's different than having a boy.  I want Caleb to be strong and manly.  I want him to be brave and fight for what's right.  But Genevieve is like a flower.  Please admire.  Please handle with care.  Don't you dare hurt my baby girl.

So glad I have a Genevieve. 
So glad I'm somebody's Genevieve.