31 weeks today and all the focus has turned to birth plans.
Do you have one? Do you want one? What’s in it? What do you want? What don’t you want?
I’m probably basing most of my birth plan on a few different things: I’ve been through this before. I’m a nurse. I worked in Labor and Delivery for 7 years, side-by-side with some of the best, and yeah, I think I learned a thing or three. And above all else, don’t take yourself too seriously.
Here goes:
Hello, one and all! It’s your lucky day! Why? It’s delivery day for James and Lisa! Now, before you cringe and roll your eyes at yet another detailed, overdone version of a birth plan, hear us out.
First and foremost, thank you. Thank you for doing the job you do every single day. Our wish is to allow you to do your job today as any other day, without much in the way of primadonna requests from us. We are keeping it quite simple:
-If I come in ruptured, just give me enough chux to sop up the baby soup. I don’t expect you to wipe my hoo-ha constantly. Just gimme something to keep from flooding both the bed and the floor, and we’re good.
-We will bring our own Hippity Hop birthing ball (minus the fun handles), and I’d love to bounce around the room on it. Sorry if that means for irregular fetal tracings on the monitor….
-Getting in the shower to relax sounds like a great idea, but I’ll be honest, I probably won’t.
-If at any point I see, smell, or hear about any sort of food item, I may sweetly beg you for a bite, a drink, or a taste. Humor me. We both know that labor is hard work, and a damn Reese’s Peanut Butter cup isn’t going to make or break this party.
-My husband is a rookie. I’m the semi-seasoned veteran. Focus most of your attention on him. He may need it. If he looks pale, just make sure he has a soft place to land.
-Pain medication? I’m open to it. Please extol the virtues of them all. I’ll listen with rapt attention and decide from there. If my last delivery is any indication, I will most likely opt out, but it still doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about it. Just for fun, if the anesthesia peeps are hanging around the unit at the time, bring them in. If he’s handsome enough, I just might let him put in an epidural.
-Last delivery I was mortified that I might poop. Did I poop? You betcha. This time I could care less. I’m giving fair warning now, though, that if I decide I need to get up and have a bowel movement during labor, don’t be surprised if you already see the Hershey highway as evidenced down my ass crack. It happened before, and I’m quite certain it may happen again. C’est la vie!
-As my labor nurse, you are the gatekeeper. You get to decide who comes and goes, who stays, who’s in the way, and who’s just generally pissing you off. I leave it in your capable hands to decide when to call the doctor, because quite honestly? I know you can deliver this baby with your eyes closed in just about any crazy position I may find myself.
-If I’m not too fat, and can actually REACH my perineum, yeah, I think it would be kind of a thrill to feel the top of my baby’s head during crowning, but honestly? I’ll probably be so consumed with the intense fucking burning sensation that is radiating from my vagina and around to my asshole during crowning, that I’ll probably forget. Don’t bother to remind me. It’s ok.
-As the lucky recipient of a fourth degree laceration with my last delivery, I’m beyond open to alternate birthing positions: dancing, squatting, scissoring my legs in the air, side-lying, all fours, naked, interpretive dance, whatever. I leave it up to you. Let’s have fun with this.
-I won’t be eating, planting, or using my placenta in any other way. If it looks particularly cool or has some neat design in it, sure. We’ll be happy to take a gander. Otherwise, toss it right into that red bio bag.
-For the cord cutting ceremony, we prefer to use our own Hattori Hanzo sword. We are huge Kill Bill fans.
-Once baby girl actually emerges, as tempting as it is to have her crawl up my body to sniff out my breasts and immediately begin breastfeeding, feel free to get a good hold of her, do what you need to do first, then hand her slimy body over to me. I’ll have my ginormous breasts out and at the ready.
-Immediately after delivery, I would love ice. Not just for the possible gaping bat cave that my have once represented my vagina, but for the champagne that we would like chilled. We will provide the stemware. If there weren’t such a strict policy regarding drinking on the job, I would most definitely have you join us. Maybe after you clock out?…
-Once baby is safely delivered, tucked into my waiting arms, I only have one more request: a huge high-five from my nurse and OB/resident. WE FUCKING DID IT!
Now, let’s get this party started, shall we?
