Zoe was born via a scheduled c-section at 39 weeks. I was huge and miserable and scaring my doctor with my elevated blood pressure. If I had gone into labor with my BP as high as it had been, there is no way they would let me attempt the VBAC that I longed for. That Halloween night, Jason dressed up as a OB (a C-Section OB, natch, in a lab coat over golf clothes) and on the next day, November 1st, our little Zoe entered the world screaming her head off and weighing in at 4lbs 15.5 oz...and she continued to scream for the next 4-5 months.
In a PPD haze, trying to laugh and not just sob, I used to joke to my 3 1/2 year old Lucas that Zoe cried all the time because she had "pickles in her pants." Which ended up in a song that sounded a lot like "Mary Had a Little Lamb," which lead to Zoe's nickname of "Pickles" or the "Pickle Princess."
Something to note about Zoe - she's pretty willful. She does things when and how she wants to do them. Yes, life is going to be VERY hard for us in about 10 years. We know this. She didn't walk until 18 months, but when she did she got up and walked across the house. It's not that she couldn't do it, it was just that she didn't really see the need before then. When she started talking she quickly started calling people what SHE thought they should be called. Her nanny was not Michele, but "Honey" and Lucas quickly became "Ugga." The best part is that she knew everyone's real names. Ask her who Ugga was and she would simply reply "My brother, Lucas." Much to Lucas' dismay, the nickname Ugga stuck. It wasn't until he started playing rugby a few months ago that he embraced his nickname and even expanded on it, liking to be called "Ugga the Rugga."
Even as Zoe insists on calling people by her appointed nicknames, she never has liked hers. Often times she will respond with an angry "I'm not a pickle, I'm a Zoe!" Which, because I'm SO that mother, makes me want to call her "Pickle" 20 times over. The other night I was tucking her into bed, and as I turned on her half-moon night light and turned off the big light, I whispered "Good Night my Pickle..." to which my little sweet baby girl princess responded back with:
"GET IT STRAIGHT! I'm NOT a pickle!"