As I embark upon these final weeks of pregnancy, I realize that I have yet to actually send out anything baby related outside of the ridiculous confines of social media. Unfortunately, good intentions don’t make update e-mails materialize out of thin air. I’d like to think that I’ll get better at punching words into a computer with more intent than mildly justifying my paycheck, however, I’m pretty sure Baby Groot will have something to say about that relatively soon.
Speaking of Baby Groot, she measured within the 63rd percentile at 6 pounds, 2 ounces. Her heart and other important innards appear to be ready to rumble. I’m already over 2cm dialated and she’s totally locked and loaded. Doc says if I go into labor tomorrow, he’s not going to try and stop it.
Despite my better judgement, I decided to return to the standard OBGYN I had been going to for the last 6 years or so as opposed to switching to one of the natural birthing centers. I wish that I could say that I had better reasoning behind this decision than the fact that the man sounds like Kermit the Frog whilst able to keep up with my crass humor. In all honesty, I hate the idea of giving birth in a hospital, but at least Dr. Phillips can be trusted to continue the stream of puns up until Baby Groot starts crowning and suddenly it taint right anymore.
All joking aside, the hospital I’ll surely get kicked out of be giving birth at is nicely appointed with large labor rooms and cozy recovery rooms. They are even welcome to the hippie crap I’m into (essential oil aromatherapy, hypnobirthing, hardcore doula action…). Totally going to be a BYOBB (bring your own birthing ball) party.
Somehow, the inevitable truth that childbirth sucks hasn’t quite sunk in yet. In my tiny little bubble of sarcasm and hilarity, I refuse to assume any semblance of seriousness about the matter. So far, for what the birth plan lacks in functional information it grossly compensates with nonsensical humor and whimsy. For example, when a friend posed the question “Where is Scotty from Star Trek when you need him?” I replied: “I feel the willingness to participate in medical trials featuring tech from 1970s SciFi would be more widely accepted than my request to bump Salt n Pepa’s Push It at max volume.” (click here if you’re too old/young to know what that means)
Needless to say, I have some work to do on my formal birth plan prior to the big event. So far, all I know is that I’m refusing to allow them to stick anything in me, only take things out. I’m rooting for a totally natural and drug free birth. Oh, and if there happens to be any stray black babies laying around the nursery, I call dibs on that little kiddo in addition to my own (if you don’t get the reference, I suggest you watch This Is Us – great show if you forgot what a proper ugly cry feels like). Sounds like a solid birth plan to me.
Since this is my debut family update, I have no idea what the heck I’m supposed to say in these things. So, I’ll wrap this episode of TMI up with a little Q&A:
Q: What are you going to name your future tax deduction/Warrior Princess?
A: Jury is still out on this one. We’ve shared a few names with y’all: Aurora, Zoelle, Simone, Quincy, Amalia… but she’ll be plain old Baby Groot until she gets off my bladder and joins us on the outside. Stay tuned.
Q: When are you coming to Michigan to visit?
A: With any hope, Baby Groot and I will make the road trip up in the late summer/early fall. We shall see how our health and finances are fairing before making that commitment. Being that my employer does not offer maternity benefits what-so-ever, money is going to be pretty damn tight. So please, be kind and understand if our little family needs time to recover from this financial burden.
Q: When are you moving…
Q: Is this long e-mail over yet?
A: Sure, :-).
Much love to you all xoxo — Che Angela and Baby Groot