I’m the kind of person that likes to be in control of her life.  Of her schedule.  Of her emotions.  Of, yeah, pretty much everything.  I also don’t like to give up, or to admit when I’ve had enough. 

After my first baby, I pumped at work IN MY CUBICLE for 12 months, because they wouldn’t provide me with a clean lactation room or access to one of the many vacant offices in my section.  But I was determined to keep control of the situation and keep nursing, so I pumped three times a day in a cubicle with walls that, um, didn’t go all the way to the top.  I stored my milk in the community fridge, and walked it bravely down the hall past my male co-workers.  Eventually, I didn’t even hide it in a sack, or blush too much when a colleague asked, “Oh, is the baby here today?  No?  Then why do you have a bottle of milk in your hand?”   

I asked for reduced hours or the option to telecommute soon after that, as I was having a terrible time leaving my son and going to work each day.  (And pumping in my cube alone while he was at home with Gramma was really no picnic.  It tore my heart out each day, but I was determined to make this work + child thing work out for us.)  When my boss said no, I went to his boss and appealed.  I went to HR.  And to career services.  And to everyone at his level in related departments, asking for a job with reduced hours and/or telecommuting.  I made an absolute pest of myself trying to obtain a solution that would make the (work + family = balance) equation work for me.  I even wrote a proposal for the big boss proposing my own job, a dream job, that could be done from home because why not? it wasn’t something on the books and had no deadlines except those which I proposed (and were good ones, trust me on that!  I’d have hired me in a heartbeat).  I was in control.  Until one day, I had exhausted all the options and my boss cancelled the two days of telecommuting that I currently had, with no real justification. 

I was in control.  I took a look at the situation and quit.  On. The. Spot.  I’m just stubborn that way.

So why do I suddenly find myself, after 7 months of involuntary bed rest, teeth-grinding pain, and a full-term baby in my belly, refusing to accept the offer of my OB to “bail me out” and induce labor next Tuesday?

I should have said yes.  I should have said yes, please.  I should have taken control and scheduled this bad boy and started labor and birth asap.  I’m in pain.  I’m taking medication.  I’m a giant hippo who can’t sleep more than two consecutive hours and who has heartburn starting at 7 a.m.  I need the relief and I need to move on to meeting my son and recovering from the nightmare of the last 7 months indoors and on rest.  But I didn’t say yes.  I said let’s wait another week.  Let’s give him more time to develop and grow and give me more time to finish this proposal I’m working on. 

Because I’m just stubborn that way, and I have to be in control.

It didn’t seem like such a good idea when the meds wore off.

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