First, I swear this is not an advertisement for how birthing naturally is the ancestral right of every woman and the culmination of how she expresses her femininity in it's purest form...whether or not that's true.
Before I was ever pregnant, AKA "back when I knew everything", I read an article about natural childbirth and how it is pain our bodies are meant to handle and how epidurals cause labors to stall which cause pitocin to be administered, which causes longer labors, tired mother and c-sections which are the devil incarnate or "birth rapes". So I made a solemn vow that I would never allow any pain medication, especially not the dreaded epidural, to enter my body while I was giving birth.
Once I got pregnant, everyone's piece of advice, after telling me not to eat or drink anything at all, because it would cause my baby to have three heads and I would never lose the baby weight, was to get the epidural right away. I countered this by proudly stating that I had decided to have drug free childbirth. I don't know if you know what happens when a woman who has never given birth says she doesn't want pain meds, but it goes something like this:
-eye roll -exchange of knowing glances -condescending, slightly sarcastic remark along the lines of "good luck"
This, of course, made me only more determined to prove them wrong. I would give birth, sans pain meds, no matter what. I did speak to two women who had gone that route. They both gave me pretty identical information. One girl said, "It is the WORST PAIN you will ever feel in your WHOLE LIFE. EVER." The other told me, "It's like pulling a monkey out of your eye." Both of them would prove to be correct.
My pregnancy passed and I did kegals and squats and Evening Primrose oil and red raspberry leaf tea and I was ready to go. The morning before my due date, I had bloody show. At 4pm that afternoon, I had my first, "whoa, this is different" contraction. I went to the hospital at 9 pm, prepared to do battle of epic proportions with the evil nursing staff who would surely hold me down and demand that I submit to their pain medication. But once I was checked in and said I didn't want anything for pain, my nurse simply suggested that I walk or bounce on a ball, since those would make me dilate faster. The pain wasn't so bad when I was standing. It hurt, I'm not going to lie. It hurt a lot. As in, I could totally see why people get epidurals. But it wasn't too bad until an hour before my baby was born, when the midwife decided to break my water for me, to give me some help with the last 2 centimeters I needed to dilate. Then they hurt, terribly, and were on top of each other but at that point, there was no way I could have sat still long enough for a needle to be put in any part of me. It took an hour for me to finish dilating and start pushing.
I remember thinking that I was too tired to keep going and that I was going to wind up with a c-section after all my bluster, but pushing was actually better than just lying there, wishing I was dead. I always think of the moment the midwife told me to push as like being shoved onto a stage and expected to perform a role that I'd never heard of. On TV and in the movies, doctors and nurses are always shouting instructions and encouragement at women. During my birth, the midwife chatted to her medical student (who looked horrified at whatever was going on down there, BTW) between contractions and sort of glanced at me when I started to push. I held my own legs, since they weren't numb, rather than my husband's hand and I pushed like my life depended on it, through three contractions, three pushes per contraction, and she was born.
She was beautiful and healthy and I did have immediate relief. But I didn't forget the pain immediately, as they say. I very distinctly remember lying there, being stitched up (no pain meds, remember) while my husband snapped 3 million pictures of our baby girl lying in a warmer, thinking "Well, one baby is plenty, really."
But I did it again anyway. The second delivery was a lot faster (five and a half hours, versus sixteen hours the first time) and the baby came very quickly. As in, she was crowning when my husband and I were alone in the delivery room. I don't know that I've ever seen him look so terrified as he frantically pressed the nurse call button. The nurse was nonchalant as she swept into our room but when she got to the foot of the bed, her eyes opened wide and she pulled out a phone and began barking orders. Apparently, if there is no midwife or OB or blankets in your room and a baby is born, all Hell will break loose. I say this because this nurse and another one who happened to walk in, rolled me onto my side and laid on me so that I couldn't push. It was only about a minute before the midwife ran in to catch the baby, who emerged in one push, but it felt like a really long time. I didn't have any stiches this time, but when I was installed in my room upstairs, eating breakfast and watching Kathie Lee Gifford ask Martin Short how his dead wife was doing, I thought, "Two babies is plenty. I don't need to have any more."
Except that I kind of want to. And I guess I won't have an epidural this time either. I am not really explaining why I didn't have an epidural at all. My original reasons, which were that they were bad for the baby, or to show people that I could, really aren't reasons anymore. So at this point, I am left with temporary insanity. Which is the only reason I can imagine that I would choose to add another child to my life anyway.
They are pretty cute though.
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