As we finished up our lunch at Subway today, Robb alerted me to food in my teeth. In my typical silly-and-up-for-anything attitude, I made this ridiculous face like the Cheshire Cat, showing all my teeth. I may have also been sticking out my tongue. It's possible. And probable.
And in that moment, I heard, "Hi, do you remember me? I was your nurse once."
Sure enough, standing right there beside me is the nurse who cared for me when Tyler was born.
Now, could I just say, I deeply love all the people who have cared for me and my newborn(s) in those very early, traumatic, gory, post-partem days. If you are one who holds on to modesty with a tight fist (...I am not one of those girls...), then you have to simply choose to leave your dignity at home and instead pack some boldness and indiscretion in your overnight bag. Childbirth is an intensely personal - yet simultaneously very public - event. There is protocol in the hospital that is called for and acceptable, and I seek tremendous trust and rapport with those who complete the necessary tasks.
Like I said, I am thankful. And Nurse Rebecca was by and far the very best I've ever had at my bedside. And at my everything else.
It's just that I often hope to leave those friendly faces locked up in the hospital, where they can choose to remember or forget what parts of me they have seen.
But here she was, friendly as ever, at Subway. Hello, Rebecca. And here are all of my teeth.
I regained my composure and re-introduced her to nearly-two Tyler, whom she welcomed right alongside us for those first few blessed days. And in charming response, Tyler showed her his mouthful of pizza, and Tucker threw all his apples on the floor. This is my family.
I'm not really that embarrassed... a girl who will make such faces in public has to realize the risk of being seen by someone other than her spouse. I don't (typically) fall prey to the fear of what others are thinking. Still, it was Rebecca. Nurse Rebecca.
But she has seen me in worse condition. At least I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt.
You know, not a gaping gown. Or less.
(I'm so ridiculous.)