Gosh our house smells delicious. I am never getting a fake Christmas tree. This smell makes me so happy. But I am digressing before I even start this post. Pregnant brain.
It all started when I was reading Ruth her favorite bed time book: “Madeline.” I don’t know if you are familiar with the story, but it is about a boarding school for girls in France headed by a nun, Ms. Clavel. Madeline is her most challenging little pupil, and one night Madeline has to have her appendix out. When the other little girls go to visit her at the hospital, she proudly shows them her new scar from her surgery. In the illustration, Madeline’s back is to the reader as she shows the awe-struck little girls her scar. When I got to this part in the book, I saw Ruthie closely study the illustration. She looked at me with a quizzical look on her face, and asked, “Mama, what is a scar?” I didn’t know how else to explain the concept to her, so I showed her my scar from my C sections and told her how I got it.
Now, I will be the first to admit that vanity is a shortcoming of mine. I remember the day before my scheduled C section with Ruth thinking that this was the last day my torso would be scar-less. It upset me a little bit. But I would do whatever it takes to bring my breech baby into the world safely, and really a small scar is an insignificant sacrifice. But the nagging insecurity about my new scar remained.
When I showed it to Ruthie, she gasped. I hid it once again quickly. She looked at me and said, “Mama, it is beautiful!” I was shocked and didn’t know what to say at first. “Thank you, Ruthie. That is very kind of you to say.” “When can I get a scar?”, she asked me. “I don’t know.” I told her. “Sometimes we get scars when we get hurt. I’m lucky because mine brought me my three babies!”
Tonight, I heard her proudly tell Scott that when she grows up, she is going to have a scar just like mommy.
This inspiration courtesy of my three year old comes at an opportune moment for me for a different reason as well. The thought of Wren’s scar from her possible open heart surgery makes me anxious. Will she feel self conscious about it? Ruth unknowingly brought me so much comfort in this regard. I know that both Ruth and I will assure her with utmost confidence that our scars are part of what make us beautiful. Hers will be a scar that is her badge of courage in the face of a serious heart defect. Without it, we might no longer have our sweet little bird with us. But I am being precipitate. Perhaps she won’t need open heart surgery after all? Her upcoming appointment with the cardiologist will hopefully give us more answers.