Belly Button to Babyland: A Tale of Three Brave Trips

Have you ever had surgery? What for?

I didn’t walk through motherhood—I was wheeled in. Not once, but three times. Three cesarean sections. Three dramatic entries. No violins, just beeping monitors and surgical masks. Was it easy? Absolutely not. But would I do it again? For those tiny fingers and sleepy smiles—without a second thought.

They say “No pain, no gain.” I say, “No guts, no glory… and definitely no six-pack abs.” Each time, I braved that cold OT, knowing that I’d be leaving with more than stitches—I’d be leaving with a new chapter of love.

“Scars fade, but the memories of holding your baby for the first time? Forever inked in your soul.”

I remember the tugging, the waiting, and that moment when time froze before a cry filled the room. That one cry turned into giggles, tantrums, and wild bedtime stories. Today, when my kids jump on my bed like it’s a trampoline, I smile. This stretched skin, this scarred belly—it gave them life. And it gave me purpose.

“People ask if I miss my pre-baby body. I don’t. She was cool, but this version can love harder, laugh louder, and survive anything—with or without sleep.”

Three cesareans didn’t just deliver babies; they delivered the boldest version of me. And though the journey was wrapped in IV lines and healing creams, it was also sprinkled with magic.

Thought to ponder:
Sometimes the strongest warriors don’t wear armor—they wear hospital gowns and carry newborns home.