Breathe, Push, Roar...
Birth war stories are probably not for the ears of those yet to encounter. At a recent kids' party three moms from my original mother's group posse were all fighting for air time over what happened six or seven years ago. We remembered it like yesterday. Could it be the pain?
My kids are absolutely gorgeous and I love them more than anything but let's get real here. Giving birth is hell. I mean more hell than I ever thought it could be. It's the level of pain that is unfathomable. In theory I had such an easy birth the first time. It only lasted an hour and a half. Sounds like a breeze. I had no stitches and could practically run a marathon the next day.
This one moment is all prepped by a weekly birthing class and countless pregnancy and birth books. In my case I had my husband clued in right down to the baby's nail growth on a daily basis.
Everything was absolutely text book until the god awful moment when the lightening bolt struck in the middle of the night. It was pure shell shock. And there was no wondering if it was a real contraction. Before we raced out the door I'll never forget whipping up a protein shake for all that energy I was going to need. Yeah right. It was straight in and straight up. Page 36: Don't eat during contractions as the body clears everything out to prepare for birth - and that meant both ends.
My birthing plan was a "roll with the punches and see what I'm dealt" approach before I decide what "assistance" I would need. Well, I decided way back in bed during the first contraction that if this was labor I wanted drugs. I said the word drugs at least 1000 times before we even got to the hospital. It was like my last words in life were going to be drugs. Or at least that's how I felt. Unfortunately the nurse didn't think it was a good idea to rush into the epidural so quickly.
With no rhyme or reason I straddled a chair under a hot shower for my chosen birth position and screamed like an animal proving that sound waves could make it to China from Sydney. Meanwhile, my husband stood there excitedly trying to comfort me. If I could give any man advice during this time it's not to look excited but "concerned". When a woman feels like she is about to die she doesn't want Mr. Happy. Nor does she want gas. The nurse gave me gas to supposedly take the edge off. I told her to get a new tank with something in it. I demanded an epidural at which point they said "let's check out your dilation"... at which point they said, "you're having a baby, we better call the doctor." And somehow after I pushed for 30 minutes my doctor rolled in effortlessly, slipped on his gloves and said congratulations you have a boy with not a second to spare.
As my friends came to visit me at the hospital and see cute little Cody, I couldn't stop talking about "the birth". I was in awe that anyone could live through such a thing. One friend in particular insinuated that it couldn't be that bad. So a year and half later with number two I made my husband tape record the "primal sounds" to prove to my kidless friends this was no knee injury. Even the thought of being tackled by the NY Jets defensive line sounded soothing.
Did I say the kids are cute?
Birth war stories are probably not for the ears of those yet to encounter. At a recent kids' party three moms from my original mother's group posse were all fighting for air time over what happened six or seven years ago. We remembered it like yesterday. Could it be the pain?
My kids are absolutely gorgeous and I love them more than anything but let's get real here. Giving birth is hell. I mean more hell than I ever thought it could be. It's the level of pain that is unfathomable. In theory I had such an easy birth the first time. It only lasted an hour and a half. Sounds like a breeze. I had no stitches and could practically run a marathon the next day.
This one moment is all prepped by a weekly birthing class and countless pregnancy and birth books. In my case I had my husband clued in right down to the baby's nail growth on a daily basis.
Everything was absolutely text book until the god awful moment when the lightening bolt struck in the middle of the night. It was pure shell shock. And there was no wondering if it was a real contraction. Before we raced out the door I'll never forget whipping up a protein shake for all that energy I was going to need. Yeah right. It was straight in and straight up. Page 36: Don't eat during contractions as the body clears everything out to prepare for birth - and that meant both ends.
My birthing plan was a "roll with the punches and see what I'm dealt" approach before I decide what "assistance" I would need. Well, I decided way back in bed during the first contraction that if this was labor I wanted drugs. I said the word drugs at least 1000 times before we even got to the hospital. It was like my last words in life were going to be drugs. Or at least that's how I felt. Unfortunately the nurse didn't think it was a good idea to rush into the epidural so quickly.
With no rhyme or reason I straddled a chair under a hot shower for my chosen birth position and screamed like an animal proving that sound waves could make it to China from Sydney. Meanwhile, my husband stood there excitedly trying to comfort me. If I could give any man advice during this time it's not to look excited but "concerned". When a woman feels like she is about to die she doesn't want Mr. Happy. Nor does she want gas. The nurse gave me gas to supposedly take the edge off. I told her to get a new tank with something in it. I demanded an epidural at which point they said "let's check out your dilation"... at which point they said, "you're having a baby, we better call the doctor." And somehow after I pushed for 30 minutes my doctor rolled in effortlessly, slipped on his gloves and said congratulations you have a boy with not a second to spare.
As my friends came to visit me at the hospital and see cute little Cody, I couldn't stop talking about "the birth". I was in awe that anyone could live through such a thing. One friend in particular insinuated that it couldn't be that bad. So a year and half later with number two I made my husband tape record the "primal sounds" to prove to my kidless friends this was no knee injury. Even the thought of being tackled by the NY Jets defensive line sounded soothing.
Did I say the kids are cute?
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