1. I don’t want my water to break in public. Mainly because I don’t want people thinking I just peed myself or even worse, thinking my water actually did break. I find this event causes people to panic and since panic is contagious I think I will panic too.
2. I don’t want an IV started in my hand. I have always been bad with needles-especially large-bore catheters placed permanently in the body. I understand it’s necessary, I just don’t like it.
3. I don’t want cheerleaders at my bedside. I do want support from Mchubby and whoever else I invite to come watch me birth this football but I don’t want any of this “YOU CAN DO IT, PUSH, YOU’RE DONG GREAT HANG IN THERE”. I really think that will get on my nerves.
4. I don’t want to labor for 43 hours only to wind up having a C-section.
5. I don’t want a C-Section
6. Although the thought of McHubby down there watching his son being born warms my heart, I fear if he sees what it looks like 10cm dilated and in that state that he may never travel there again
7. The dreaded episiotomy. This may be one of my biggest fears. I get that I will be in so much pain that I will be begging for him to come out. BUT, I do not want anyone cutting my chuckolina open. I thought they cut you with a scalpel then saw a video of them using a scissor, like you’re a fucking arts and crafts project. No. THANKS.
8. Poopin and a pushin. I really don’t want to poop myself during this ordeal. I mean, is it necessary? How do I avoid this? Someone told me to push like I was going pee instead of going poop. HUH? Is this whole process not humiliating enough that I may have to shit myself in a room full of people?? AGAIN?
9. Delivering the baby in the car. I know, I watch too many “I didn’t know I was pregnant” episodes. So many that I made McHubby bring an obstetrics kit home from work in case we go into labor in the car on the way to the hospital. What if there’s traffic? What if the car breaks down? You can not be too prepared if you ask me!
10. Having a piece of placenta left in me after delivery, my pressure bottoming out and me dieing before I ever hold my son. I know. Stop. I can’t help it, knowing too much is a dangerous thing sometimes.