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Today my little Madeline Grace is 6. I can't help but think about the day she was born.

She was one week late, which isn't surprising considering as a 6 year-old she loves to be warm and cozy.  Who would want to leave the womb for Modesto in December? Seriously.

I was concerned (I know, I'm always concerned.) that my doctor was still on her Thanksgiving break, which meant I had to see another doctor. Mostly I was worried because I love my doctor and trust her and now I had to deal with another person.  But, I'd be lying if I wasn't thinking, "Great, another person who I have to show my parts to."

I spent the early hours of December 1 with my Doula while Doug slept.  I squatted, kneeled, walked; anything to get my labor to progress quickly.  Did I say Doug slept? Everytime I went by the bedroom, my irritation level grew. Must be nice.

When we got to the hospital, I met Dr. X.  He seemed nice enough.  In fact, Doug knew Dr. X's son so they played catch up. Which again was irritating because while all the catch-up was going on,  I was bent over in pain. 

But what evs. It was all good until Doug handed over my birth plan.

Now I know what you are thinking...birth plan?  How granola. Birth plans are great, not only for granola folks but for Type-A folks like me. I wrote out how I wanted thing to go. Just envisioning how things would go was a comfort and helped me feel in control of the situation.

Dr. X took one look at my birth plan and promptly kicked it to the curb declaring, "I don't do birth plans."

Awesome, especially coming from someone who doesn't even have a uterus.

I couldn't even speak, I was shocked. Doug diplomatically explained that it was really important to me that we follow what I outlined.  I should mention, I didn't have anything crazy in the plan whatsoever.  It said things like:

* I don't want drugs.  If for some reason I absolutely need to have a drug, I choose, a half does of drug X.

* I'd like to be able to move around as much as possible. (Believe it or not, some hospitals don't let you move off the bed.)

* I'd like to put the baby on my chest right away before it is swept away to get weighed and cleaned up. (Again, this doesn't always happen.)

I labored for several hours and every 30 minutes or so, Dr. X would come in and ask me if I wanted an Epidural or he would whisper loudly to Doug about how he didn't understand why I was putting myself through this.

Hmmm, yea, I wonder why...BECAUSE IT IS MY CHOICE!

Finally, after hours of pushing, crazy heart rates and all the facts, I decided the best thing for the baby was to have a C-section.

A beautiful little baby came grudgingly into the world and the pissing match with the Dr. X was a distant memory.