I thought I would mention the climactic conclusion of my circumcision debate. After much hem-ing and haw-ing about what to do, a day before I was induced, R and I decided to leave our baby alone. In short, we chose not to circumcize.
I have to say, I expected more resistance than we actually met. After hearing from so many people who were fired up about the choice, I thought I was taking a major political stance by not cutting. I expected to have to argue down batallions of nurses extolling the virtues and laying on the guilt trips. Nothing quite so dramatic occurred, much to my chagrin.
I was asked no less than 7 times throughout my hospital stay if we wanted to circumcise, beginning with the admittance desk (??) and ending with a huge male orderly in fuschia scrubs who cheerfully assured us, “that’s fine! Just wanted to check!”. As if it was a spa treatment I was turning down. In those first crazy hours I had enough trouble learning how to get meconium off a new and highly unfamiliar set of genitalia. I can’t imagine having to do diaper changes that involved an open wound.
The New One was born with a gorgeous set of manparts-to-be, and I have to say that every time I change a diaper I breathe a silent “thank you” to God for such a highly-contested (but perfectly formed) little appendage.