When I gave birth to Mason I had an “all natural” birth; no pain medication, no preservatives. I remember internally congratulating myself as the nurses cooed over how well I handled contractions – whispering amongst themselves “I’ve never seen a first time mother do so well. She could teach a class!” The only-child in me (who thrives on praise) reveled in those compliments and egged me on. My thought process was “oh ya? You thought I handled that last contraction well – wait til you see THIS!” At the end of my painful and prideful twelve hour non-medicated labor I gave birth to a healthy, alert and perfect little boy.
Fast forward to my second pregnancy…
When I give birth I plan to roll up to the hospital in yoga pants that will inevitably have some kind of spilled food on them because let’s face it, I have a toddler.
It seems like the right choice for our family to give birth in a hospital because I spent a solid chunk of my 20’s drinking and watching Grey’s Anatomy, so I find I’m really in my element amongst rugged and chiseled male doctors. (Nothing against the ladies, I just don’t want them to feel bad when they see how chic I look 9 months pregnant in a hospital gown).
Immediately after checking in and handing off my 2 year old for a 3 day vacation, I daydream about picking various numbing medications from an a la carte menu before a handsome, yet experienced, anasethiologist numbs me up to high heavens. I want to forget I ever had nerves in my torso.
From there I’ve detailed in my birth plan that I’d like to be handed a double pina colada (with a rum floater) which no doubt will pair nicely with my 2XL epidural. I then plan to watch all daytime television shows that feature extreme adult themes and explicit violence and/or nudity – basically whatever show is the most opposite of Peppa Pig, the current soundtrack to my second pregnancy.
As I watch tv the nurses may feel free to:
1. offer to fan me with palm fronds of my own providing
2. kneel before my birthing bed and bask in my glow
or my personal favorite
3. all of the above.
Everyone who enters the room must compliment me on how they’ve never seen a pregnant woman with such un-swollen and delicate feet before and then proceed to call other nurses into the room to fawn over how tiny my ankles are.
After happy hour and compliment time, Dustin and I will enjoy a leisurely afternoon nap (in complete silence) a sound we’ve forgotten due to you know: kids.
We wake up, yada yada yada, I have our precious bundle of joy, enjoy a gourmet steak and lobster dinner and ride out the rest of my 48 hour vacation courtesy of Blue Cross of Idaho.
Anyways, we SO thank all the medical staff for respecting our wishes during this exciting and magical vacation for momm- er I mean – during this exciting time for our family.
(I’m starting to understand why my doctor isn’t a fan of birth plans – all the other one’s he’s seen weren’t as incredible as mine.)
Anyways, I’m going to be a joy to deal with. Go ahead and call the anesthesiologist now
haha…No, but really: fucking do it.
Nama’ stay in the hospital for as long as insurance lets me