When I was pregnant with Sophia I swore to myself that I would not become a crazed control freak when it came time for labor and delivery…basically any character out of sitcom. I would not become a sitcom character…too easy. I knew I wanted a virginal delivery but I also knew that something, anything could go off course and I could end up at the other end of the delivery spectrum with a C-section. I think acknowledging the unknown and the lack of control I had over how my body and baby would do their thing helped me relax. I was slightly disappointed that I had to be induced but was glad to be done with pregnancy.
Now that I’m on round two of pregnancy and well versed in how things go down in the delivery room, you’d think I’d be all Zen and “whatever happens, happens.” Yeah…not so much. This time I’ve been obsessing over every little thing. The ultrasound tech made the mistake of telling me baby boy was in a breech position at the twenty week scan. You know when he was still so small and able perform a Cirque du Soleil routine inside my uterus. Since then I’ve been Googling how to coax baby into the correct presentation, info for external versions and their risks, and research articles on vaginally delivering babies. And of course I hound my OB at every appointment and am kindly reminded it is way too early to even consider it a concern. I’m also obsessing about getting the fuck out of the hospital as soon as possible. While I loved my labor and delivery nurses the postpartum nurses and “lactation consultants” were the worst healthcare providers I have ever interacted with. And being woken up every four hours when both the baby and I are sleeping and content is not fucking helpful or conducive to rest and/or recovery. By the time I was sprung from the hospital after delivering Sophia, I had been in the hospital for almost ninety-six hours and I was on the brink of a meltdown. That shit is not going to happen this time. I know we need the standard tests (hearing, PKU) and they can’t be done until twenty-four hours after birth but after we are out.
I also plan on avoiding an induction at all costs. This is my only chance to get to experience going into labor on my own and I fully intend to experience it. And I won’t be starved during labor either like I was last time. Twenty-four hours on zero food and then pushing out an eight pound human do not mix.
I think a lot of my need to have all of this go exactly according to plan has to do with the fact that this is my last pregnancy. This is it, now or never. I don’t want to look back and have major regrets. I don’t want to spend any part of my recovery or my son’s early life reconciling my desires with what actually happened.
Could I end up with a C-section? Yes. Could I end up needing an induction due to unforeseen circumstances or just failing to go into labor after forty-two weeks? Yes. Could I end up being stuck in a hospital bed for days because of surgery or a difficult recovery? Yes While I’m not “okay” with these scenarios I’ll know they had nothing to do with me and my lack of communicating my wishes. I know enough this time around of what I do and don’t want, what the medical staff is and isn’t capable of doing and I’m going to get what I want depending on the situation.