Every time I have a Braxton Hicks contraction I think: oh yeah, right. Having this baby is going to really hurt. This last one made me think that I should get my birth plan in order.
Just so you know, you bring your birth plan with you to the hospital so that the medical professionals can be on the same page as you and your husband or (sigh) partner. It's also handy to write a birth plan so you know how your labour and delivery are going to go: the exact opposite of whatever you wrote down.
I think it's probably a first pregnancy thing to do? After that you learn two things: 1. you'll do whatever you have to do to get it out and 2. labour and delivery are a fucking cake walk compared to the months after you leave the hospital so, who cares? Labour and delivery have a beginning and most important, an end. Sleep deprivation is like a never-ending delivery only no one is popping their head into your room to offer you drugs. I don't know why the nurses can't send you home with a little something to help take the edge off? They don't even send you home with stool softener. Bitches. But I digress. Against my better judgement, I have decided to write a birth plan. At least I'll know that my Associate has something on which to jot down all the hilarious things I might say. Or maybe I'll go into some altered state and spew out some really profound stuff that needs to be published? I'll call it: God's Birth Plan For You. He'll need to record that. So, here's my birth plan:
1. survive it.
2. spew out profound shit to be published when my hospital staycation ends.
3. also deliver all weight that I've gained during pregnancy. Screw it, since I turned 26.
4. time is money and the less time I spend delivering the baby the faster I can move on to the spa portion of the staycation. So, chop chop.
That's it. I'm sure everything will go according to plan.
Do you hear ominous music?