Well, I didn't get my entire list done before Thanksgiving. Technically I have three more days until the day Buster came early, but I doubt I will get it together. At the very least, the super-top-secret advent calendar I am making will get mailed a few days after December. SORRY. LIFE IS PAIN.
(I did, however, make a bacon-topped apple pie that was THE GREATEST THING EVER PUT INTO ANY MOUTH. So that should count for half-finished quilts, right?)
Anyway, the whole point of this post is to tell you that I am feeling more confident in my baby-hatching skills. Confident enough that I am coming up with a birth plan. Which means that I am optimistic that I will have a say in the birth. THIS IS HUGE.
Here you go:
1. Have baby in hospital, assisted by doctors, possibly--nay, probably--medicated. (Me and doctors. I don't care.)
2. Eat copious amounts of sugar after baby is out and I am no longer a ticking time bomb of eminent insulin coma.
3. Bring home baby from hospital at same time I go home from hospital.
4. El fin.
"But La Yen! What about midwives? And homebirths? And the eating of your own placenta? WHAT ABOUT THE BRUJAS?"
No.
"But La Yen! What about your experience? What on earth will you blog from this?"
My experience? My experience is about one million spots down on the list of things that are important to me about this baby. Last time I was all ready for the hypno-birthing, all ready to see if I could survive squatting over an open flame of triumph and feminism and suck-it-pioneers-your-sacrifice-means-nothing-to-me-I-need-no-drugs-on-the-trail and then? Plans changed. And I had no say in anything. Not any tiny thing.
And the only thing I could do was make milk, until I couldn't even do that right.
And I realized something:
This baby making and creating and extruding? Not about me. Not about me one little bit.
Because if I can physically walk out of a hospital and leave my three-pound son behind for thirty days, if I can physically survive that? I can do anything. And I have nothing that I need to prove. There is no pain that I cannot handle. There is no wall I cannot break through. And so I don't need to prove to myself that I can do it. I don't need to prove to anyone that I can do it.
And so I don't need to do anything other than bring this kid home, preferably at the same time I am discharged.
However he gets here is just fine. I would rather not go through laboring and then have to have a C section, if it is at all possible, but whatevs. And I would really like to have a TV that works in my room, but again, whatevs. And I would LOVE it if this one has no tongue tie and can latch and eats a lot and doesn't fail to thrive, but whatevs.
And here is what I plan on blogging:
Baby is here! He looks just like Buster! Buster has only attempted to set him on fire thrice! Jooj has decided to move in with her kindergarten teacher because she hates us all! My boobs hurt!
And that should be enough, shouldn't it?
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Taking a Break From Christmas: The Birth Plan
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12 comments:
I love everything about your blog and your posts but this post is one of my most favorite of all time. Because YES to all of it.
Except why aren't you eating your placenta?
Better TV in hospitals is our last hurdle to overcoming barbarism. I'm kind of serious.
Seriously, how hard is it to get a good tv in there? It is easier to stream tv on my laptop in the room than to watch it on the hospital tv. Advanced medicine my foot.
Also Gerb, I'm going to save it in my freezer and eat it on our anniversary. Don't forget this if you come babysit.
You go girl!! (And when I say something as cheesy and dated as 'you go girl' publicly, then you know I mean it). Frankly, having a baby in the hospital is the only way I get served cookies and diet coke while lying in bed. I say milk it!
You know I love you, right? This is one of the reasons why I love you. I hope you get some Lorna Doone's too. Because that is why I did the whole hospital thing!
You are my hero.
you can borrow my slow cooker for your frozen placenta when the time comes
because I'm a giver
YIPEEE!! Finally! Someone says what I say and says it the way I would say it. I wish I could do something special for you. Make you a treat? Rub your feet? Do a special dance? I just love love love this post.
A few back, I got into a bit of a tiff with some broad on Carina's Facebook page about this very thing. Broad said I was unfeminist and whatnot and hoped that I got divorced and got married again and that the wedding would be a disaster so I could see that the details matter. WHAAAAT!? What in the atch does that have to do with having a baby without some grande birth plan?
Love this post. I might come back later and tell you again.
I read this post whenever it was you posted. And I had to come back to it and comment because (a) I am an official blog stalker and (b) it is totally awesome. My birth plan with Ike was, "Get an epidural. Nobody can come in except medical folks and the spouse. No phone calls." We achieved the first two, and the third one would have also been achieved had it not been for my dad's dang triple bypass the day of my scheduled induction. Who does he think he is anyway?
Beautifuly sane commentary on birthing....I'm carrying it around and showing it to the next nut that wants to tell me about homebirths.
Hey thats what my birth plan has always looked like too! I'll just live through other people's beautiful natural/home birthing posts. They can do all the work for me on that front ;)
-vanessa inevergrewup.net
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