I haven’t really given much thought to our birth plan until recently. Early on, our doctor let us know that we were almost definitely facing a C-section. It bums me out a little. I want the opportunity to work hard and be a part of the childbirth process. I want that sense of accomplishment. Instead, my birth plan sounds a lot like that dinner scene in “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.” I’m the big snake that gets wheeled in at the end. Someone will slice me open and a bunch of babies will come pouring out. I (half) joke with Matt that once these boys are born my body will crumple to the ground like an empty skin suit. Then he’ll have to wear my skin suit from time to time and pretend to be the mom. This visual cracks me up for some reason, even though it requires me to die a terrible death.
When I go in for our check-up this week, I ask my doctor if I could at least labor before the C-section, if only to kickstart all the chemicals that help you bond with the baby, lactate, and fully transition into mother mode. She says most women with triplets go into labor on their own, so chances are I’ll get to experience something. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not some weirdo who loves contractions; I just don’t want to miss out on all the natural stuff.
Matt’s aunt Kathy is in town this week for a conference and is staying with us. In addition to being one of the smartest and kindest people I know, Kathy has a wicked sense of humor. Her partner, Nancy, is also a perfect blend of salty and sweet. Both of them are over the moon about the triplets, which makes us feel great. While Matt’s at work, Kathy and I sit outside and shoot the breeze. I tell her some of the details about our fertility issues. The next morning, as I’m lying in bed trying to summon the will to heave my body into the shower, I hear Kathy greet Matt downstairs with a friendly, “So Matt, tell me about your sperm.”
I sure am going to miss Kathy when these babies turn me into a skin suit.