Birth is super important. It is the jumping off point for motherhood, it's a rite of passage, it's probably the most extraordinary thing that has ever happened to me. The moment I first saw James and had him placed on me was undoubtedly the most incredible moment of my life. There are no words I can think of except that in that one moment, I think I felt every feeling you can ever feel. Incredible love, awe, pride, amazement, fear, anxiety, joy, trepidation. It was unreal and I'm lucky I got to have the experience.
But back to birth. The way you birth your baby, the way you are treated during that precious time and the way you feel about your birth is important. Nobody needs to do a lit review on this, but mothers and researchers know that birth affects postpartum outcomes, bonding, and the physical, emotional, and mental wellness of baby and mom. Given that I felt somewhat traumatized by my birth experience...where does that leave me?
Well, here's my reflections 7 weeks out. As I think back on that day, the memory of the pain has lessened a great deal. Suddenly, I find myself thinking I'd happily do it again (it wasn't so bad, was it? Wait - yes, it was. Guess I still need more time). Time does softens things and I have kinder feelings about myself and the labor I endured. Here's what I know to be true -
Truth: I was a labor warrior. I worked with the greatest pain I have ever felt in my life for hours on end (late morning until 7:30 p.m., to be exact.) Each of those hours were so tough and I held strong. Those that were there - Adam, my mom, my doctor and nurse - told me then and continue to remind me just how much of a rockstar I really was. I clawed and screamed and grimaced and grunted primal noises like an animal and did what I could to survive it. And survive it I did.
Truth: The hard work and preparation paid off. Adam & I took childbirth classes, read books, and did a lot of planning for labor and delivery. Each and every single thing we did beforehand helped tremendously - from the ocean waves soundtrack on my Ipod to understanding how we would communicate while I was in pain. Nothing we did was in vain. (Okay, I take that back. The $7 handheld battery back massager wasn't used. Still - I was comforted knowing we had it we had it and maybe that was its true purpose.)
Truth: I delivered a healthy, beautiful baby boy who is perfect in every way. We are lucky; James & I ended up safe and sound and just fine. I did not fail at birthing (though the technical medical label for the reason for the c-section is actually "Failure to Progress." Yep.) I could not control the positioning of my son's head anye easier than I could control the color of his eyes or the sound of his cries. I worked hard to deliver him vaginally. I pushed and pushed and pushed for three hours, tried all manner of poses (my midwife called one of them the "jack knife" - that was fun...), and consented to trying a vacuum extraction to avoid having a c-section.
Truth: Having a c-section was hard. For me, it was harder emotionally than it was physically. Though, having your internal organs spread out on a sterile table and being rearranged back inside you is no walk in the park. I underestimated how hard the recovery would be. Especially given that my body had labored for so many hours and my baby's head was in the birth canal for a good long time before we moved on to surgery. But honestly, the most difficult part was accepting that despite my best efforts, things didn't go as planned. And wondering if I had failed as a woman and as a mother. I think I had a pretty textbook case of the baby blues (though thankfully not postpartum depression) and dealing with those feelings contributed to that.
Truth: I am recovering. I had my 6 week postpartum checkup the other day and in the words of my doctor, I am doing beautifully. I'm losing weight, feeling much more like myself physically and emotionally, I'm doing a great job taking care of my new baby and trying to also meet my own needs as best as I can. As I sat on the crinkly paper lining of the bed, she read my post-operative report to me and we discussed what happened. Every single thing I heard from that report reiterated what a fantastic job I did birthing my baby in the best way I could given the circumstances. I teared up as a little hearing the report, and found I was no longer embarassed my how emotional I feel sometimes when discussing the birth. She was encouraged that I will most likely be an excellent candidate for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) which is something I already know I want to try for next time.
I will forever have my c-section scar as a reminder of my birth. I get to choose what my scar represents. It does not mean failure. It is a physical marker of my hard work bringing my son into the world. It means I am a mother, and it means I have James, and this is the most important thing in my life. It means I succeeded.
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