Well, forget all that! Nugget is here to teach me the art of letting go. Turns out I have mild preeclampsia. My mother and maternal grandmother both had it, and mine has evidenced in the past week. In light of this development, the option of a home birth no longer exists. We're scheduled to be induced this coming Sunday evening, when I'll be at 39 weeks.
Fortunately, nothing but rhapsodic praise exists for the labor & delivery ward at Mission, my nearest hospital. It's so good, in fact, that my midwives claim it's the reason there are no alternative birthing facilities in Asheville to date. There's just no demand for one. They have a water birth area (lovingly dubbed "Waterworld") and, according to one of my midwives today, they just changed their standards in August to allow women to labor in water even if they've been given pharmacological inductions (they have wireless monitors to keep check on momma and baby without being rigged up continuously to a machine).
So, faced with the reality of no longer being able to birth at home, this planned, precise, "resolute" mom-to-be could have freaked out. Could have sobbed. Could have pouted and whined and protested and felt that it's just not fair. And I did feel some fear about the whole situation. But, after talking it out with Hubs, and my folks, and three trusted lady friends, that path seemed utterly pointless. Instead, I'm opting to embrace what my dear friend Jen wrote: "You are given the birth you are meant to have, for your growth." For me, that means a hospital birth.
My Pop assures me that this is simply preparation for parenthood, when "letting go" is the order of the day. Fortunately, Hubs is an absolute ninja in all things related to letting go. He's been practicing non-attachment, specifically as it applies to outcomes, for decades. He's quite good for me that way. And, I have to say, given all that's transpired over the past few days, I've surprised myself at just how willing to let go of my hopes, plans, schemes, and attachments I've been. The prospect of the incredible gift we'll receive in the final analysis makes it all worth while. In this case, the end truly justifies the means.
I've packed a bag for the hospital. A kind soul, a new friend with a heart of gold, is primed and ready to take care of our furry friends chez English when the time comes. We're employing several means of inducing ourselves, to see if we can't get the party started without intervention. Otherwise, Hubs is making "Mushroom Mac' N Cheese" (with a hint of truffle oil-ooh wee!!!) and collard greens for dinner, I plan to watch "The Fabulous Beekman Boys" on Planet Green at 9:30, the chickens will go to bed at 7, the dogs will be fed shortly thereafter, and all is just as it's meant to be.
Steinbeck sure knew what he was talking about (by way of Robert Burns). The best laid schemes of mice and men do often go awry. Time to do away with scheming and planning and all that. Time to step into the river and be moved by the current.