I received an email from a neighbor and acquaintance this morning. She had her baby last week. As she was almost two weeks late, each night I'd walk by her house while out with the dog and look for signs of life to see if they were at the hospital or not. I was genuinely excited for her. I made an extra loaf of banana bread and stuck it in the freezer. I picked up a neutral onsie while out shopping (I bought two for myself). I froze some chicken soup and picked up a loaf of french bread to deliver to them, thinking they might be in need of food reinforcements by now.
I know her previous birth story- how she labored at home for almost all of it with a Douala, showed up at the hospital practically crowning and pushed for awhile before- voila! A baby. So I expected the same this time around. The mass email I received today read as expected; birth date, size, weight, general excitement and good old fashioned button-busting pride. Then, a statement about how proud they also were of their second natural childbirth with no pain meds that was faster and easier than the first.
I swear reading that felt like a slap in the face.
She has every right to be proud. I'll bet that feels amazing. Unfortunately, I will never know what that's like and therein lies the issue. It's MY issue, not her issue. I KNOW this. Still, my first, initial gut reaction was: F*ck this - I'm keeping that onsie. My second was: Get over yourself. That's childish and wrong. My third was: Fine, but I'm still going to be pissy about this.
I question "What if.." over and over in my head every single day. What if I had waited a few days instead of being induced the last time. What if I had a Douala or a really kick ass midwife at my side helping things along instead of three different labor nurses. What if I could have delivered him and become one of those women, so many women, who go into labor, show up at the hospital and have a baby. Who don't ever have to spend a minute trying to weigh the pros and cons of a delivery versus a surgery. Then I tell myself to stop it. When you are not in the baby making-baby having stage of your life, no one cares about your birth story. Except maybe your kids and you. It doesn't matter how they got here, it just matters that they get here. Full stop.
I'm revisiting some harsh lessons learned in these weeks leading up to having this baby. Some very resentful feelings are surfacing that have left me alone since we graduated from infancy to toddlerhood, but that plagued me harshly in the first few months of my son's life. The fact that I couldn't deliver him in the way that I thought I should have been able to. The fact that I couldn't breastfeed him. I tried everything, I mean everything, every trick any nurse ever knew. His weight was dropping and still not a single lactation consultant would say to me- It's OK. Give him the formula. This is one tiny step of motherhood. Move on. Enjoy your baby. Instead I felt like a failure, every day, crying big tears holding that tiny baby trying to force feed breast milk with a syringe. It literally makes my stomach turn to think about those days and unfortunately these days, after putting much of that away, I can think of little else.
I don't fit the mold. The mold. The mommy mold. I had pitocin- boatloads of it, which apparently, is now frowned upon. I had an epidural AND a C Section, I didn't breastfeed (although I pumped for nine months which looking back is just CRAZY) and I don't stay home with my kid(s). As someone who doesn't fit the mommy ideal I think I can say from the reactions I get, with some authority, that the myth of mommy perfection still exists.
I just want to say to women who labor (relatively) easily and who breastfeed for months on end seamlessly as they go about their days- You just don't know. You just don't KNOW what it's like to want that and not get it and I want to make them understand.
When actually, it's me who needs convincing. That the result of a quick labor with no drugs are not any more breathtaking than one who comes out of the operating room. Or that the reality is the only person who will be disappointed if I have another C Section is me. I could use reminding that pre-school teachers don't ask you if your four year old had formula or breast milk.
So I'll hand over the gift tonight with a smile and I will congratulate her and I will sincerely mean it.
Then I will walk home and try not to think about it any more.
turing peppermint, tea tree oil and shea butter, Foot Relief Cream absolutley leaves skin feeling cool and refreshed. Belli packaging is beautiful and would make a lovely shower or I feel bad for you because you're going to be pregnant over the summer gift. 
turing peppermint, tea tree oil and shea butter, Foot Relief Cream absolutley leaves skin feeling cool and refreshed. Belli packaging is beautiful and would make a lovely shower or I feel bad for you because you're going to be pregnant over the summer gift. 
