Birth Plan

At 37 weeks I have officially reached the generalized arrival zone for Moppet #2.  I asked my Dr. for a "definitely done by" date and so this baby will be evicted no later than July 11th, which is less than a month away.  My life as a mobile home is almost over.

Preparing for a baby is an endless list of nitpicky little chores, most of which do not really matter but which somehow seem terribly urgent all the same.  I mean I haven't hung the curtains in the nursery yet, so my baby will probably refuse to spend the night here as a matter of principle.  One of the things I keep putting off is writing a birth plan.  I always wonder just how useful this actually is.  The mommy community acts like this is as important as having insurance and significantly more important than having a crib.  Do medical professionals just read them and laugh? I think I would, especially having seen drafts of them on mommy message threads.

So much about birth and caring for a new baby seems to bring out maternal hubris.  Ooooh I have this plan for how my birth is going to be and it will be wonderful and spiritual and meaningful.  Okay, maybe.  Or maybe your body will writhe in animalistic pain beyond your control and it will all be super gross and kind of awful and either way you get a baby.  Making a plan for something that immediately gets out of hand seems kind of futile to me.  Nevertheless I have bowed to the pressure of my pregnancy app which relentlessly nags about this and written my birth plan.  It has two essential points, which are exactly what I asserted last time with P.

1.  I want an epidural and I want it yesterday
2.  If/when I poop while delivering I want you to lie to my face and say I didn't if I ask.  I don't care how natural or common or unremarkable it is to the L&D team.  Have I pooped in front of strangers? Yes, of course I have, anyone who knows my (former) blog knows that! But I do think there is a big difference between having diarrhea in close proximity to a homeless woman and doing so directly in someone's face.

Maybe just for the thrill of it I should think about my alternative, ideal-situation birth plan.  Here are some elements of that.

1. I'd like to opt out of being the one to give birth at all, actually.  Can Chris and I take turns on this?
2. I would like the room to be set up like a Bachelorette Fantasy Suite -- this means a trail of rose petals, candles everywhere and prurient camera men taking lingering shots of the empty bed.
3. The L&D unit is several floors up.  Any chance of an air show going on we could watch while we wait? Maybe some trained birds, stunt planes and fireworks?
4.  While they're rummaging around my innards could the team also suck out some of the extra plumpness I've acquired? Might as well.
5.  I will, of course, be wearing a hospital gown I brought myself.  The emphasis here is on gown.  Plan on sequins and jewels, and maybe twinkle lights.
6.  I ask that the amniotic fluid be saved and bottled so that I can force my loved ones to toast to my baby with it.  This is part of my belief system.
7.  I demand that everyone keep the baby's sex a secret.  We are planning an elaborate gender reveal party for his/her 14th birthday.

I'm open to further suggestions of course.