02/03/2014 11:58 am ET Updated Apr 05, 2014

Baby's First Surgery: The Perfectionectomy

lina aidukaite via Getty Images

Let it go. Your child was born with an abnormality, despite you doing everything right. You planned, you controlled, and still. Your beautiful baby is beautiful, but not perfect. Not like you pictured.

Stop being angry. Yes, you started taking prenatal pills months before you were even pregnant. You force fed yourself kale and eggs and anything with folic acid. Your friends laughed when you stopped using deodorant because it was safer for the baby. Not a single sip of wine crossed your lips, even though everyone said it was perfectly fine in the last trimester. You yoga'd your ass off.

Drop the guilt. Its no one's fault. It wasn't that strange position you slept in that one night. The bite of Brie didn't do it. You and your husband don't have incompatible genes.

Then why? Stop asking why. It just. Happened.

But I was recently tested.

My 15-weeks-pregnant friend told me about her plan to schedule a C-section, and not to breastfeed. At all. I found myself thinking about this long after she and I had the discussion, but I couldn't nail down what I was feeling. Confusion with her choice? Yes, but that alone wouldn't cause me such trouble. Self-righteous? Probably, since I'd just had my baby four months earlier, insisting on a fully natural birth, and knowing all the benefits of breast milk. Angry? Why on earth would I be angry? Wait... yes... that felt like it fit. I was angry.

Formula McGee (whom I love) has every right to nourish her baby however she wants. And we live in a country where it is easy, and often encouraged, to schedule a cesarean -- little to no labor pain for mom, and a convenient and quick procedure for doctor. So what was my problem?

In my mind, McGee would probably have a perfectly healthy, perfectly perfect baby. And I didn't, even though I did everything "right." And that wasn't fair. And that made me mad. Which made me cry. For my helpless baby who didn't deserve to have such an invasive surgery; for my sister, who's son had open heart surgery at 5 hours old; for every new mom who crumbles when they get The News; and for myself. Because after living a life where my plans became reality 9.9 times out of 10, this was life-altering. Personality-shifting. I don't have control. I can't work harder to make my son better.

I was given my beautiful Broxon for a reason. He is perfect. For me. All my planning, my obsession with things being just so... all my control issues... right out the window. Brox was born, and I had to succumb to the Universe. His imperfection showed me some of mine.

Once I accepted that his uniqueness in every way made him the exact little miracle my husband and I were meant to have, I was able to let all the questioning go. My son is, quite simply, perfect.