Getting Down to "Business"

Somewhere early on in this pregnancy I became obsessed with Ricki Lake. I know. Weird, right? Let me explain. Ricki Lake recently produced a documentary called "The Business of Being Born." In short, she sells the idea that hospitals and doctors are more concerned with making a quick buck by inducing pregnant women before their body is actually "ready" to give birth...which in many cases results in an emergency c-section, which, in turn, results in more money for the doctor etc, etc. Sounds nothing like me, right? I'm a planner. Induction fits perfectly with my personality. Strangely, I decided after already giving birth to two children that I would make a point this last time to do some research. Sorry #1 and #2. Hope you turn out alright. Catch ya on the flip side!
So I ordered "Business" on Netflix just to see what all the fuss was about. Ricki thinks, as do many other midwifes/Douala's/women who go bra-less and don't shave their armpits {oops, inadvertent stereotyping}, that when the baby is ready to come, it will come. In her documentary, which I begged Eric to watch with me to no avail, she focuses on drug-free home births using midwifes, water births, standing births, birthing ball births...basically every birth plan I swore I'd never do.

After watching the film, I re-confirmed for myself- Hoag Hospital or Bust. Surprised? What, I don't strike you as the deliver-my-baby-in-a-bathtub-like-Shamu type? The truth is, I grew up 5 minutes from Sea World and remember watching the news of a birth at the park when I was younger. I just can't get passed the God-awful visual it ingrained in my brain. And while we're on the subject, who wants to sit in the bathtub after the delivery anyway? I won't even take the baby from the doctor until it's been cleaned off. No judgements, thanks. We have the rest of our lives to cuddle. And don't get me wrong. By no means am I judging the au-naturale moms. More power to ya!

Still, after watching the documentary and deciding I was right all along, I can't get Ricki out of my head. She has been sitting on my ever-widening shoulder, whispering sweet Bradley-method nothings, convincing me that I'm going to screw up my kid by speeding up the labor process with induction and drugs. I've become torn {ew, awful word to use with just 10 days left. My apologies}

If you know me at all, it will come as no shock to you that I called the hospital months ago to make sure that they had enough epidurals on hand. God forbid they run out. I've also spent the last 9 months counting all the pregnant women I know. I even went so far as to create a list, in chronological order by due date, of all the preggos. This had nothing to do with my OCD {well maybe a little OCD}, but rather, I felt like if the majority of pregnant women I know were due at a different time than me, I had a better shot of delivering my child in an ocean-view suite at Hoag versus the Hoag hallway on a gurney. Yes, I actually have anxiety that we'll have a "no room at the Inn" situation. And seriously, I want {need} as much medical intervention as possible. Morphine for the pain? Absolutely. Pitocin? Bring it on. Epidural? Make it a double.

So Tuesday when I went for my weekly doc appointment {38.5 weeks} and my doctor mentioned induction next week what's the first thing I did? Check my calendar? Nope. Call Eric? No way. Call my mom? Uh-uh. Immediately get a vision of Ricki Lake sitting naked in a bathtub, groaning like a cow, birthing her second born? You guessed it. Ugh! Dammit Ricki. Get out of my head! Two nights ago I had a dream that a member of the Wiggle's delivered my baby in the cockpit of an airplane! I have crippling heartburn that could grow hair on your chest. The last thing I need right now is a Ricki mind-fuck.

I thought about it for a minute. I called Eric 2 times and got no answer. Awesome. Because if you know my husband, you know that he answers EVERY phone call. So yeah, that's ok babe, I'm just 10 months pregnant...water could have broken...could be 10 cm and ready to push {hee hee hoo}...and you're just not answering your phone. Whatever.

So I decided that Ricki could suck it.

March 28, 2011 is going to be a great birthday for #3. That's right. I said it, Ricki. You can take your bathtub birth and shove it. I'll be showered. Hair done. Legs shaved. You name it. I'll be ready. Induce the hell out of me. Let's make it happen. Bring on the pitocin, epidural and medical intervention. 5 days to go. Oh, it's so on...