I went into a little stream-of-consciousness spiel about how I'd like to try for a VBAC this time. Last time, I kind of talked myself into natural childbirth by reading a million midwifery books. Although I really wanted an epidural, I talked myself into going natural. And it didn't work out, but I wasn't heartbroken over my cesarean section, and I wouldn't be heartbroken over another one. But I'd like to give it a shot with a VBAC, but this time I was pretty sure I wanted an epidural (I eventually got one last time too, but the circumstances were all ass-backwards and anti-birth-plan-ish).
And he waited patiently for my spiel to come to an end, and then he very kindly, and with much regret, informed me that the practice, due to a recent internal battle, no longer allows VBACs. Nor does the hospital where I delivered last time. Honestly, I think he was more disappointed than I.
He told me my options were to agree to a scheduled cesarean, switch to a VBAC-friendly practice, or: you can pretend to agree throughout your pregnancy, and then simply refuse the surgery. No one can force you to have surgery against your will. That's assault. Of course, that would be a difficult and uncomfortable choice, and it's completely up to you. I'm just informing you of all your options.
I would never in million years choose that last option. But I just love that he offered it! It's as if I walked into a dealership to buy a minivan, and the salesman showed me a hot little Harley Davidson, and then told me that there were very few women toting infants and toddlers in sidecars, but if I were up for it, well ..... he just wanted to be sure I knew about all my options.
Just in case I happened to be, you know, a TOTAL BADASS! Willing to FIGHT, for my RIGHT, to VeeeeeeBAC, while in labor!
Which I'm most definitely not. But it never hurts to be mistaken for one.
So I decided to switch practices, and was referred to a new one by a coworker who recently delivered a 10 pound, 10 ounce baby boy via VBAC. Either she's a rock star, the doctor's a miracle worker, or there's a little bit of both going on. I'm not above hanging out with the two of them, hoping some of that magic dust rubs off on me!
Although I am sincerely hoping to have a smaller baby this time. My son was 9 pounds, 15 ounces, and I'm sure that was a factor in my failure to deliver him vaginally. Also, his head was gigundous (and still is, my beloved little bighead!). Now, my husband weighed 10 pounds, 4 ounces at birth, and his noggin' is also on the large-and-in-charge side, so we might be battling some big (pun intended) genetic tendencies here, but it's certainly worth a shot to try and build an ittier-bittier bambino this time around.
The doc said one option is to go on a diabetic diet, even though I'm not diabetic, because any spikes in blood sugar act as a growth hormone on an unborn baby. The bad part of this option involves pricking my fingers with pins all the time to measure blood sugar. The good part involves potentially avoiding pushing a ten pound toddler out of my lady parts. I'm willing to give it a try.
So baby and I will be bonding in a most unusual way. We're going on a diet together. Expect to see us looking slim and trim, with a stylish little bump, in the latest maternity wear. Just a teeny, tiny fetus and his badass mama, rockin' it (hopefully) VBAC style for the coming season.