After reading this post about what one woman wants for her delivery, I got to thinking about what I want. All I really want is everything to have a safe and healthy resolution. Andrew's OK, I'm OK, Mark's OK. Beyond that, I'm fairly open to whatever happens, happens. Whether I have a quick and easy labor, or if I'm in agony for hours even with the epidural (which, I've learned, freaks me out more than the pain of delivering my son; something about seeing exactly where that catheter is going to go just gives me the heebie-jeebies; I don't like the idea of anything being that close to my spinal column, I don't care how safe and tried-and-true the damn thing is; of course, I'm sure I'll get over my ick-factor in a heartbeat if the pain becomes unbearable), or whether Something Happens and I have to have a C-section, as long as everyone's safe and healthy, I'm good. Sure, I've got a few preferred scenarios, but there's this innate sense of "however it happens, it's gonna get Andrew out of me and tangibly into our family and we'll go from there."
Actually, I do have a big want. To deliver before my due date. I was extraordinarily jealous of the women in the breastfeeding class last night who had August due dates. I love Drew, and while it's been fun having him wriggle and squirm and kick and punch my innards, I'm ready to have him in my arms.
By the way, of all the oh-so-pleasant terms used to describe baby's diapers (we learned what we need to expect and see to make sure Drew's getting all the breastmilk he needs last night), "explosive" is by far the most disturbing.