Scheduled

It was sort of surreal when I got the letter in the mail. It was from my OB/GYN's nurse and it said that my baby would be delivered at 9am on Thursday, December 4th.

Below this sterile news was a list of preparations for me to fulfill prior to arriving at the hospital, 2 hours, before my surgery.

I called my husband and let him know the news. He agreed that it was so bizarre that a letter told us when our second child would be arriving, not the baby or my body. A medical decision had been made and that was that.

At first I was sort of bummed out because there was no longer that element of excitement or surprise; I could no longer wonder when my baby was going to be born. I already knew and could mark it on my calendar like any other task, chore or event, which was odd in and of itself since I am a planner by nature and you would think that I would love the knowing aspect of this like anything else.

I guess I felt sort of gypped, like my daughter had no say in the matter-she couldn't break my water and tell me when she was good and ready to arrive. She didn't know it yet, but her birthday had already been pre-selected. Isn't bearing children supposed to be natural and on mother nature's time clock, not a hospital's schedule?

After a few days of letting my daughter's pre-determined birthdate sink in, I realized that it would be alright for things to be different the second time around because it was what the doctors thought was best for the baby and best for me. I began to like how easy it was going to be to plan for childcare and my husband's schedule and carpooling to pre-school and all those other things that can get mucked up when you unexpectedly go into labor.

I decided that just because there was no element of surprise to her birth that did not mean that her birth would be any less wonderful and empowering than my son's.