What is Birth? (Baby, Don't Hurt Me)

A few days ago, I made a post on Facebook that I feel the need to dig a little deeper into and explain a little better. 

Birth.  It's a magical, wonderful, spiritual thing, right?  Right?!  OK, in all honesty, it is; but for some women, like myself, it can be source of insecurity.  When I was pregnant, I LOVED birth.  I loved reading about it and loved hearing about it.  I loved to hear how people brought their babies into this world, the journey they took, the struggle and anguish, and the sweet reward that waited for them at the end of it all.  Well...except of course if you had a c-section, because, in my mind, that didn't really "count" as giving birth.  Feel free to slap pregnant me at any time.  I don't know why I felt this way; social stigma, lack of knowledge, pure naive arrogance, I'm not really sure which.  I think I always viewed c-sections as the easy way out.  It was the super fancy, ultra celebrity way to give birth.  You scheduled it, they take your baby, maybe slip in a tummy tuck, bing, bang, boom, you're out.  That is, until I had one of my own.  *Queue dramatic music and pause here*

Honestly, a c-section was never, EVER something I thought would happen to me.  My husband and I had planned an unmedicated delivery, but obviously the Lord had something different in mind.  It needs to be said that I had a pretty difficult labor.  My labor started at 4 o'clock in the morning on July 26th and Oliver wasn't born until 3:24 am on July 27th...so...a long day.  I had pretty terrible back labor and it wasn't long before I threw in the towel and decided to get an epidural.  That, I could deal with.  I told myself that I would be disappointed with myself if I got an epidural, but I could live with it.  Honestly, I didn't know labor was going to be as bad as it was.  And newsflash: labor sucks.  Sorry for all of you out there who had a supernatural, out of body experience and felt no pain or still think it's wonderful, but mine was terrible.  I truly remember wanting to kiss the anesthesiologist on the lips after my epidural (I had been laboring for close to 20 hours).

In my mind, I had really envisioned Ben and I in the perfect birth setting.  A utopia of sorts.  Warm lighting, soft music, me completely zoned in and visualizing all the things we practiced, and Ben being the perfect coach.  Not so much.  Ben was wonderful, but I was stressed, and in agonizing pain, and honestly, I just wanted to rest, so I got the dang drugs.  Sue me.  I regret nothing because when I finally got my epidural they hooked me up to the fetal heart monitor only to discover that with each intense contraction I was having, Oliver was going into distress.   His heart rate was dropping quickly and there was no sign that he was going to come out anytime soon.  To be frank, if I hadn't gotten an epidural, I'm not sure what would've happened to my sweet boy. 

Everything was so chaotic when my OB told me what was about to happen.  She KNEW it wasn't what we wanted, but at 2:30 in the morning and after 22 hours of labor, you do what your OB says.  Everyone was rushing around and I started to feel extremely anxious (I have never had major surgery ever) and think I may have had a borderline anxiety attack, I'm not so sure.  I just wanted to rip off my oxygen mask, get up, and run out of the room, but seeing as I couldn't even wiggle a toe, that wasn't happening.   All I could think about was how would I nurse my baby immediately, how would he know me, how would I take care of him if I was on heavy drugs?  I had never planned out how to handle this scenario.  The Lord really has a sense of humor.  They rushed me off to surgery, did some tugging and pulling, and minutes later, I heard the sweetest sound I have heard in my life; the sound of my baby crying.   In that moment, nothing mattered.  He was here, he was safe, I was happy.  Then, all of a sudden, I realized how incredibly exhausted I was, and the drugs they had me on did not help.  All I wanted to do was look at my baby, but all I could do was close my eyes.  Mom. Fail.  I did manage to slip in a nap while they were sewing me up, but I has pretty dang out of it all day (thanks, morphine drip).  To this day, I still do truly believe we made the right choice for us and our baby, but I have never been more disappointed in myself.  I didn't get a magical moment, a rush of endorphins, to hold and nurse my baby as soon as he came out, my husband didn't get to cut the cord, none of it.  All of those sweet moments that I wanted to make into memories didn't happen. 

I think I'm realizing more and more how much I was making the birth of my son an idol in my life.  I worshiped it.  I was arrogant.  I was prideful.  I just longed to do what I was created to do, but I feel like I was robbed of that opportunity.  I recently watched the documentary "The Business of Being Born" followed by the TV series "More Business of Being Born" and it was very interesting.  For those who don't know, this is a documentary series done by Ms. Ricki Lake where she reports on just that, birth being a business and women being robbed of the opportunity of the birth they want with forced inductions and scheduled c-sections.  I loved hearing all the things they had to say.  I actually enjoyed "More Business of Being Born" a little more than the original film.  In it, there is a whole episode where celebrity mothers share their birth stories.  Most are unmedicated home births with a few hospital births.  I really appreciated all of the brutal honesty.  They talked about how hard it was and how much they wanted to quit, but how they knew their baby was at the end of that struggle.  I even wanted to hug Kimberly Williams Paisley (AKA Annie from "Father of the Bride") when she shared basically an identical birth story to my own.  I was not alone!  And then there was Gisele Bundchen.  She recounted how calm and wonderful her pregnancy was, how amazing she is, how fabulous her birth was, how she felt no pain, and I just wanted to punch her in her beautiful, Brazilian face.  Birth is raw and nasty and she was just so dang perfect.  I hate her and she is a l-i-a-r.  She is the reason I have issues with myself and my own birth experience.  It's all your fault, Gisele (OK, I'm being slightly dramatic, but come on, she sucks).

I say all of this to say, I believe everything happened exactly the way it was supposed to happen.  Am I happy with it?  Yes and no.  Will I try again for a VBAC if I am blessed with another child?  Yep.  Will I hate myself if it doesn't happen?  I surely hope not.  I am learning as a mother, and a woman, to give myself some grace.  I am learning that every mother's story is different.  Some deliver vaginally, some have a c-section, and some mothers don't even get the opportunity to do either.  I am blessed that the Lord allowed me to carry my son for 9 beautiful months.  I know that full well.  And every story of birth is beautiful...even a c-section. ;)