Monday, August 20, 2012

Planning birth.

As my due date is approaching (next week, egad!), I'm starting to freak a little.

My house is still a mess and nesting has only kicked in enough to make me hyper-aware of the dusty corners of the baseboards and the wrinkles in the window sheers.  And the lack of clothes or sleeping space for the future baby.

I'm also feeling doom at the impending labor.  I've been wavering between indifferent and pretty excited about birthing a human being, but now that he's big enough that I can feel the size of his limbs and booty and fully realize the fact that yes, that is a human being inside me, and he's coming out the same way he came in, I'm having crotch-winces at the thought.  I keep picturing this baby Hulk inside me, and he's getting pissed off at the contractions so he takes his not-so-tiny infant fists of fury and claps mightily at his escape route, and I just literally explode in half from around him.  That was the best scene in any movie ever, by the way.  When the Hulk clapped that motherfucking fire out?  I yelled out loud from the audience, FUCK YEAH!

So anyway, that's not going to happen, but I am nervous about labor.  I've never written down a birth plan before because the first time I wasn't picky, and the second time the plan was "just get to the hospital quick before she's born in the van".  This time, I'd like to arrive at the hospital before the baby is crowning, and I'd like to labor in blissful hydrosolitude (aka I'll be in the birthing tub in the bathroom, everyone else will be... anywhere else).

Here's the plans I've got so far:

Going with the Hulk theme.  Picture this.  You, a nurse, enter L&D Patient Drescher's room to check her progression in labor.  You see an empty bed and a red-bearded burly man seated next to it, bouncing the birthing ball against the wall.  From the bathroom you hear a roaring reminiscent of the constipated bowels of Hell.  You know where to find your pregnant lady.  You walk past the red-bearded burly man who simply nods to you to imply "I wouldn't do that," but you've been given the task to check on the pregnant lady's well-being.  As the bathroom door opens, the walls and floors begin to quake, and the sea of birth tub stew slowly parts and rises around a ginormous figure.  The figure adjusts its paper hospital bracelets that are growing tight on its bulging wrists, and surfaces from its kneeling position within the tub.  "How... how are... Miss Drescher?, are you ok?", you timidly ask.  The figure, now ascended over the tub, heaving and wild, answers.  "You're making me angry.  YOU WOULDN'T LIKE ME WHEN I'M ANGRY!!!"   Then you see the beastly figure is wearing a silly pair of these.  You assume your pregnant beast lady is ok and do not attempt to bother her with your cervical checks or your ice chips or even your small talk.  The wild Hulk woman then claps her might Hulkette hands together and triggers a sonic boom that throws you out of the bathroom.  VAGINA SMASH!

Coloring time was interesting today.

Going with the donut theme.  This plan is not nearly as elaborate or faux-violent as my Hulk plan, but it's under consideration.  There will need to be donuts there anyway, so I figure I could throw the nurses and midwife a little appreciation pastry as well.  And more importantly, god knows I love a lame pun, so what better interception between me and nosey hospital staff than a box of donuts strategically placed in front of the bathroom entrance, with a sign saying "DONUT ENTER UNLESS ADMINISTERING ANTIBIOTICS OR MONITORING INTERMITTENTLY".  But they're not getting the good Fractured Prunes.  They can fight over the Boston Kremes from Dunkin Donuts.

Threatening, right?

Short and Sweet Combo.  Maybe if I keep the birth plan short, the labor will follow suit?  I originally just wanted to write on a piece of paper, "Don't talk to me, don't touch me, don't even enter the same room as me," but I figured that would be rude.  A friend sent me her pretty genius birth plan and it was short and sweet, but I think I have decided to combine all three plans into the briefest and nicest threat imaginable.

If that isn't the sweetest "Leave me the hell alone" ever, I don't know what is!

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