It might be the lack of sleep, but I am officially freaking the “F” out. Sparky is in Hamburg today and unable to do more than freak out himself. And we’re going to be parents??
I’m not quite sure how this works out here in Krautland, but so far I think I need a gynecologist to monitor me up until birth. Then I need an Obstetrician at the birth along with a midwife who is different than the midwife who will do home visits? And when I actually give birth the chances that I’ll know the people at the business end are slim? Does this sound right?
I’m a little late to this game, but I have no farging clue as to what I’m doing. I’m searching for a midwife, but the one recommended doesn’t travel to my area. She gave me a website to check which is very helpful and there are a ton of midwives in the area, but only 2 that don’t deal in homeopathic medicine.
Let me tell you, if I were homeopathically pregnant, I might consider homeopathic medicine in the birthing of said imaginary baby.
I also don’t want a midwife who is my sister’s age(21, really?). Or who has never has a kid. Or who doesn’t speak English because my German might be fantastic when I’m drunk or medicated, but child birth is not one of those times I want to risk misunderstanding something or depend on Sparky to translate.
I don’t want to give birth in my haus or by a maus. I don’t want to hear that women have been doing this since the birth of man so just relax and let nature handle it, because you know what? I haven’t had a kid before. I have no clue as to what I’m doing.
I think maybe I’ve made a mistake.
And then there is the whole “Your Obstetrician is the one who decides if you need pain medication” issue. Wait a second, I thought that was me. I thought I got to make those decisions. “Oh, no Frau R. It’s your doctor’s decision.”
Like hell it is. I’ve already been forced from my planned C-section to the Big V and let me tell you, Heidi is not happy about that at all. I am not going there without an epidural even though those look very painful (too many Birth Stories when I was in America).
So my question is, here in Germany, do I have ANY say in how this whole birth thing is going to go? Barring Loki’s agenda, shouldn’t I be the second in command? Any other answer than yes is going to get me on the next flight back to America. Homie doesn’t play that game.
How does one choose a hospital? There are three in my area, one with which I’ve had great experiences in bad circumstances. Can I check them out like I can in the States? See the maternity area etc?
Argh. This is getting a bit overwhelming. It could be because I haven’t slept like a human in weeks, since I left California. It could be because I’m in high anxiety mode today which is directly related to the lack of sleep.
I’ve been so good with Loki. I haven’t dyed my hair or gotten my nails done. I’ve avoided all chemicals, I eat better than ever, cake notwithstanding. I haven’t touched Deli meat even though I really want a salami, turkey and ham with cheddar on a soft roll so bad I can taste it. I’ve held back petting stray cats and kittens and had my cats tested for toxo to make sure I could still live with them while pregnant. I’m not playing in the snow because I fall in the snow (this is a guarantee). I’m not driving in the snow because I’m afraid of crashing on the ice. I’m not taking hot baths because I don’t want to cook him. I’m doing everything the fourteen books I’ve read have instructed to keep this kid safe and yet the only thing in the world I want right now, other than a clear understanding of how the whole “getting the boat out of the basement” is a fucking Ambien and a full night of sleep rather than the 2 am wake up.
This post should be titled “Welcome to my Pity Party”.
I’m sick of my own whining. Give me 10 minutes and I’ll get back to you.
10 minutes later…
Okay – A phone call to Sparky and to my Dr. and I’m off the ledge. I’ll see her this week to go over everything including a “baby safe” sleep aid. Meanwhile, I’m going to go have a nap. I’m flipping my middle finger at the whole sleep fight. Come on, cats. Flannel calls.