|What's wrong with this picture? Chloe is in that vile hat. And I have a puke bucket by my head.|
With the first kid, I was too busy planning press events while simultaneously sewing vintage fabric into nursery bedding and picking out Boppy covers at Pottery Barn Kids. And then she came 11 weeks early.
With the second kid, I was too busy lighting the perinatologist's office on fire with my mind and laying down on my right side in a bizarre and completely ineffective effort to keep preeclampsia away. And then she came 9 weeks early.
This time, things are looking more full term-ish on the pregnancy front. And this will absolutely be my last time being pregnant. (I think. Just kidding. )
Sunday, my darling husband turned to me and said: "What the Hell? I'll cut the cord this time." And I thought, hmmmm, my doctor enjoys my whims and fancy ideas. He will love my edition of a birth plan.
So here it is. Let me know if I am missing anything.
Method: C-Section. I am having my third c-section. Happily, gratefully and without question.
Based on past experiences:
There will be no mention of Disney World, time shares or Mickey Mouse by any medical professionals. Not only do I not care about the vacation plans of the anesthesiologist nor the favorite characters of the nursing staff; I would like everyone to focus on me.
We also will not talk about weekend plans, we will not try to convince my husband that he is misspelling the baby's name and we will not hum along to Frank Sinatra on Pandora. Let Frank do the singing. You do the cutting, baby delivering and sewing.
In addition, if someone says: "It's a girl!" as a joke, I will strangle you with the nasal cannula
Apparently, the Old Blue Eyes channel on Pandora keeps my doc centered. So, I will allow it.
I will probably rip out my nasal cannula because I am like a mental patient/petulant child. Just shove it back in without chastising me.
And do not under any circumstances, pour that vile liquid that aims to prevent nausea down my throat and then stroke my throat like I am puppy getting deworming medicine. The third time will not be a charm: this liquid makes me puke every time. And this time, I will puke on you while you discuss Disney, if required.
As per my husband, he is happy to cut the cord. To me this seems like a "Fast Forward" on the Amazing Race; so I am happy to get us all to the Pit Stop before the rest of the teams.
I know I have mental problems, but I cannot let you do it. I have no idea why. I just cannot commit.
I hope to God boys are not forced to wear those hideous hospital hats with the ugly faux bow on the top. If God is not on my side in this matter, I may rip it off with my teeth.
Holding the Baby:
I might not be able to hold my son right away. But, Mike can. And as long as our little love does not need NICU intervention, Mike will hold him, the entire time, while they finish with the c-section. And no one else, besides a medical professional will touch him or look at him.
Keep my no-boundaries mother in the waiting room. My boy is all mine.
I secretly enjoy my numb legs post c-section and have developed a game called: "Which side of the bed are my legs on." It is a single player game. Don't try to enjoy with me.
And I don't want anyone around me except for Mike. The girls get to see him right after me, privately with Mike and I. I will be the one to introduce my daughters to my son.
Everyone else can wait. Sorry, to be the bearer of bad news: but you are not that important.
And if you have the sniffles or the plague: please stay away.
I am breast feeding, exclusively. Keep the bottles away.
Dr. Levine, you've rocked my c-sections twice. Let's knock the third out of the park.