They say if you want to hear God laugh, tell Him your plans. Well, my birth plan must have had Him in stitches.

After nine months of cramming for the "final exam," I had developed a good picture of what I wanted my son's birth to be like, and drew up a birth plan as instructed in Lamaze class. I knew flexibility was key, but I didn't realize it was the only thing I could count on.

The plan was to try to go as naturally as possible, with the option of pain meds if needed. I wanted mobility, a birthing ball, comfort techniques and the labor positions we had practiced for weeks. I wanted to let gravity do its job.

I knew, due to my diabetes, true natural childbirth was pretty much out of the question. Some medical intervention, like extra monitoring and at least one IV, was to be expected. And, as detailed in my two-page, typed and double-spaced birth plan, I was set to go with the flow.

I also wrote out my wishes for blood sugar management (please let me monitor it myself!), dietary preferences (whole grains, lean protein, fresh fruit and veggies and absolutely no white flour or corn syrup) and after birth plans for the baby (no bottles or pacifiers, please). I knew that this was a hospital and I would likely not have all my wishes accounted for, but my doctors all agreed with me-at least in theory-that I could have all of the above.

There were several things I preferred to avoid, like a needle in my spine, a catheter and an internal baby monitor that gets screwed into the baby's head. And the one thing I definitely did not want was to labor for 30 hours only to end up with a C-section.

God was laughing really hard at all of it.

It started out pretty much as planned. I started having contractions on a Tuesday afternoon. Nothing horribly painful, just a regular tightening of the abdomen that started occurring with more and more frequency, making every day tasks progressively more difficult. I thought it could be Braxton Hicks, so I drank a lot of water, laid on my side, went for a walk, everything the books say to do, but they didn't subside.

The contractions continued all day Wednesday, all night and into Thursday morning. They still weren't terribly painful, but women in my family historically have had easy labors. At about 5 a.m. Thursday morning, my husband started timing the contractions at and they were five minutes apart, lasting for more than a minute each and continuing for more than an hour-the magic 5-1-1 we were told about in class, so after calling the doctor we headed to the hospital.

Next: Murphy's Law Found My Birth Plan