I’m having a baby. After 29 weeks, it finally sunk in yesterday at the doctor’s office. At the end of my appointment, my doctor said, “Oh, let me give you your pre-admission paperwork for the hospital.” THAT is what it took. Not the weight gain, heartburn, shower planning, insomnia, chronic peeing….it took a piece of paper with a phone number on it.
Oddly enough, I haven’t been panicked about what happens after December 11 (or whenever he decides to make his debut). It’s the big show that’s freaking me out.
I’m due in the wintertime. I live 21.6 miles from the hospital. Earlier this year, we all bore witness to “Snowpocalypse.” Put those pieces together and what do you have? Me giving birth in my bathtub during a blizzard. At least my husband is an LPN. And my new neighbor across the street wears scrubs, so either he’s an OB-GYN or a veterinary technician. There’s a small chance he could pitch in and help, too. Of course, I may want to meet him in advance, just in case.
In all reality, I’m sure that I will make it to the hospital with plenty of time to spare. I will most likely be one of those women that makes 18 trips to the hospital while in false labor, just to be sent home again. But it’s better to be safe than sorry, right?
I’m terrified of the pain. My rational side knows that thousands of women give birth every single day. Most of my friends have had babies, and they’ve all lived to tell about it. Quite a few of them even have more than one. And yes, I know the logic: if labor was SO terrible, people would never have multiple children.
Plus, I’m all about drugs. I mean, the legal kind. I know that an epidural will make things more bearable; then again, I also know that the needle that they will use is about seventeen feet long. So I’m really afraid of the procedure that’s going to make the really terrible procedure better. Does anyone else see the irony in this?
Let’s say I make it through the awful needle experiment and I’m ready to deliver. Then I get to face the prospect of (let’s quote Kirstie Alley here!) pushing something the size of a watermelon out of a hole the size of a lemon while surrounded by strangers.
That’s something else that bothers me. I know that over the next several weeks, I’m going to be examined more times than I care to be, and it will be even worse at the hospital. My wonderful husband has attended every doctor’s appointment with me, so I’m not worried about him. I know that a lot of people choose to be surrounded by friends and loved ones, but I just can’t bring myself to be okay with that kind of exposure. I want my doctor, her team, and my husband. Everyone else can just wait outside until my lady bits are covered up again. Is that so wrong? I’m not down with having people watch me while I’m at my worst, and I certainly don’t want a video camera aimed anywhere near me. More power to the people who want that kind of memory, but it’s just not for me. I’m perfectly content with photographs of my newborn son, and with a professional photographer for a mom, those won’t be hard to come by.
I haven’t even wrapped my brain around the possibility of a C-section yet. How many other fears are going to creep into my head over the ensuing weeks?
I just keep telling myself: it will all be worth it. It will all be worth it. It will all be worth it….