Here’s Your Medal

“There’s no medal for giving birth unmedicated, you know.”

If I had a dime for every time I got this response from well-meaning people when I shared that I wanted to have an intervention-free birth, well…I’d have at least, like, $1.10, but it’s still enough to be frustrating, annoying, and invalidating.

When I got pregnant with my first baby, I read and watched anything I could get my hands on in order to prepare for the birth. I have a very all-or-nothing personality, and I’ve wanted to be a mom for as long as I can remember, so I spent hundreds of hours scouring the internet and our local library in order to figure out all I could about birthing and parenting. 

I decided that I wanted to have an unmedicated birth. While I know it’s not for everyone, it just seemed like the best decision for me. And even now, I have to stop myself from trying to justify my reasoning for this birth preference, but “It seems like the best decision for me” is reason enough. Always.

With my husband on board, I proudly took this birth preference to my provider. My “I would like to try to give birth unmedicated,” was met with a smirk and a “We’ll see.” While I could harp on myself and point to this as the red-flag moment that should’ve pushed me to change providers, the fact is that I didn’t. I stayed with her. Like so many expectant first-time moms, I was nervous about my baby’s health and so stressed thinking about my job, work coverage for my maternity leave, preparing our home for a new baby… the list is neverending. And, honestly, I’m a very assertive person, and I knew I had my husband in my corner. I never thought that I could be taken advantage of, nor did I believe any provider would make any decisions out of anything other than concern for me or my baby. 

I had been telling my provider for a couple of weeks that I was fairly certain that my baby was upside down (breech), but after feeling my belly multiple times, my doctor dismissed my concerns. Still, I knew something was off. At my 35 week appointment, I started contracting, and I was still adamant that my baby was breech, so before putting me on a monitor for these contractions, my provider pulled in a bedside ultrasound machine in an effort to quell my fears. When the machine clearly confirmed my suspicions, I started to panic. Though this is not the norm everywhere in the world, most doctors in US hospitals will not deliver a breech baby vaginally, so I knew if I was in labor and the baby was breech, I’d certainly be heading for an operating table. 

I will spare you the full story, partially because it’s long and partially because it’s very emotionally taxing for me to recount. What I will tell you is that I ended up delivering my baby that day, at 35 weeks and 3 days gestation, via c-section. The surgery went about as well as it could’ve gone. I became nauseated and vomited post-op, but I had no major complications. But the scar on my lower abdomen was not the only one the experience left behind. I did not get to see my baby right away. I did not get to hold my baby right away. I did not get to nurse my baby right away. Lying helpless on an operating table with my arms strapped down, my body still longed for her in a way that was so intense and so foreign to me up until that point. I know now that this is biology’s way of keeping babies safe, that the mother has this instinctual need to nourish and protect her baby from birth and the fact that I was not given the opportunity to do so with my first baby still brings me to tears nearly two years later. 

We stayed in the hospital for 6 long days, which included a NICU stay for our baby. It was an experience that I would not wish on anyone. While there were some fantastic nurses there during our stay, the ones who were less-than-kind are the ones who stick in my mind. We had to fight tooth and nail for and were given so much grief about our requests that our baby not be bottle fed formula or given a pacifier. Despite their assurances that our baby’s NICU care could be done in our room, they ended up taking her because the nurse on duty at the time “didn’t feel like” going out to a patient’s room. My wishes and concerns were dismissed at every turn, during my pregnancy and our hospital stay.  

I knew from the moment we left the hospital with my first baby that I’d be trying for an unmedicated VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) if we were lucky enough to get pregnant with a second child, and all I could do was hope and pray that it was a better experience than the first time around. 

Now, I have to pause here to tell you that all of this is not to say that I am ungrateful that my first baby came into the world safely, after all was said and done. However, when people asked how I was and I lamented that the birth experience was not at all what I had hoped for, I was met with refrains of “All that matters is that she’s here and healthy.” 

As if that’s all I could expect. 

As if my emotional and physical wellbeing did not matter.

As if feeling properly cared for and listened to by my provider and hospital staff would just be way too much to ask. 

And as I got to thinking about it over my first few months postpartum with my first daughter, I started to realize that  “All you should care about is a safe, healthy baby” is perhaps the first time mothers are encouraged to put our baby’s needs before our own at any cost. While mothering does go hand-in-hand with sacrifice, it shouldn’t mean that the mother becomes a doormat who should have no hopes, dreams, or even preferences of her own.

We found out we were pregnant with our second baby just 9 months after our first was born, so they are 18 months (and a few days) apart. 12-18 months between pregnancies is the minimum amount of time between births that’s generally recommended for a VBAC, so I felt good about pursuing it. 

By this time, we had moved back to my hometown, which is about four hours away from where we had our first daughter. I was so excited to have a new doctor and, hopefully, an entirely different experience. I joined a VBAC support group online, and everyone there recommended having a doula. We cloth diaper and breastfeed, but a doula sounded a little too crunchy, even for me. However, the more I looked into it, the more I knew that having an experienced advocate this time around would be incredibly helpful and maybe even essential if I wanted this birth to go better than the first. (I’ll add here that my birth doula was 100% essential. I don’t think I will ever want to give birth or go through pregnancy again without her. Honestly, I could dedicate an entire blog post to how wonderful she was and how amazing it is to have someone knowledgeable in your corner. If you’re in the Southwest Indiana region, check out Doula Group of Evansville).

The doctor I had originally decided to use for the birth of my second child was one I was familiar and comfortable with as I’d been in her care as a young adult before moving away. I was excited to see her and share with her my hopes for a VBAC and thought she’d be supportive. While she was not downright against my having a VBAC, she told me I should “mentally prepare for another c-section” which just didn’t sit right with me. After getting a list of recommended doctors from my doula, I decided on a female physician about an hour away who’s had three of her own VBAC births.  

I felt so proud of the decisions I’d made and the birth team I’d decided on, and I was eager to share about my plans when people asked. So when I was met with almost nothing but negativity from so many people, I was truly shocked. 

“Oh, that’s way too hard. I tried to go without the epidural and couldn’t do it.” 

“I gave birth in 1988 before they were offering epidurals at my hospital. It was *awful*. I don’t know why anyone would want to put themselves through that.”  

“Isn’t a vaginal birth after a c-section really dangerous? I just wouldn’t want to risk my baby’s life like that.” (By the way, the stats are in favor of VBAC over repeat c-section, as far as safety goes. You can read more about that from the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists here.)

“Seems kind of silly to drive an hour away to see a doctor when you live right down the street from the OBs in town.”

“You’re paying *how much* for doula? Won’t [your husband] just help you?”

And, of course: “There’s no medal for giving birth unmedicated, you know.”

Looking back, I’m not sure why, but I was honestly astounded by the things people said to me about my own birth plan and preferences. There are so many misguided assumptions about birth in general, and especially about VBACS, so all of this shouldn’t have surprised me. For real though, how hard is it to just be like, “You sound really excited about this. Good for you! I hope all goes well!”? 

I expressed my annoyance about all of this with my doula, and she gave me some of the best advice: “Choose who you let into your bubble.” She advised me to listen to the people who were supportive and not to let other people project their own fears and past experiences onto me. I tried as best as I could to follow this advice, but it wasn’t easy because it seems that the farther along you are in a pregnancy, the more people have to say about it. 

Even as my husband and I were on the way to the hospital for the birth of my second baby, I received a text that read, “Remember: there’s no medal for giving birth unmedicated.” I wanted to be annoyed, but really, all I could do was laugh. I’m sitting in the passenger seat of my van on top of a towel to catch all the amniotic fluid coming out of me and *that* is what you want to say to me? Okay. 

When my doula arrived at the hospital she asked how I was, and in between contractions I told her about the text I received while we were driving. She said something along the lines of, “Well, there certainly can be a medal.” We continued to talk and make jokes throughout my labor which was wonderful for a lot of reasons. One being that it took my mind off of the intensity of the contractions, and another that it helped me stay relaxed enough to do the darn thing. Throughout labor, she and my husband supported me both mentally and physically, always ready with a hip compression, joke, or a sniff of peppermint oil to stave off labor-induced nausea. 

My second baby was born, via unmedicated VBAC, within just a few hours of me being admitted to the hospital, and it was one of the most euphoric experiences of my entire life. I felt powerful. I felt strong. I felt unstoppable. And I could not have done it without the support system and birth team that we built. It was an entirely different experience from my first birth, all the way from the prenatal care to postpartum recovery.

The first weeks of my second daughter’s life were definitely a bit hectic. We had an 18 month old adjusting to life with a new sibling, and transitioning from one to two kids was an adjustment for me and my husband too. However, I am so grateful that my postpartum time was not made any more difficult by my having to recover from surgery. (Kudos to you repeat c-section mamas because that has to be difficult!) 

A few weeks after the birth, my doula and I had a postpartum check-in. She brought lunch and some useful gifts– including a burp cloth that I still use almost daily. We talked about postpartum life, breastfeeding, how my oldest was adjusting, and sometimes veered into completely unrelated topics, like Lizzo’s song “Coconut Oil” and some shows she recommended. Before she left, she pulled out a little box and handed it to me. I opened it to find a medal hanging from a red, white, and blue ribbon emblazoned with “WINNER”– the kind of thing you might buy at a supermarket for a peewee soccer league. Laughter overtook me, mostly because I was surprised she even remembered that comment, and tears soon after. It was just a funny gesture, but it meant so much to me because it validated my choices and my accomplishments, and every birthing person deserves that kind of support because no matter what path you decide to take, all of it– the birthing, the feeding, the mothering– is hard. 

Bottom line is: whether a person wants to give birth via repeat cesarean or try for a VBAC, whether she decides to go with or without an epidural, whether she wants to give birth in her home or in the hospital, she deserves unfailing support, and she sure as hell doesn’t need any flack or negativity about the way she’s chosen to bring her baby into the world. 

So for all the mamas who’ve been made to feel guilty or ashamed of the way they brought their tiny humans earth side, you did a damn good job, and I’m proud of you and all the hard work you did on your baby’s birthday and every day since. Here’s your medal; it belongs to you too.

Living the Dream

Recently I was out and about with my girls, and honestly, going anywhere with them right now definitely resembles a circus sideshow, but that’s the general nature of two kids under two. I had one kid strapped to me, and the other kid was in full-on tantrum mode because I would not allow her to climb the shelf that was in close proximity. Someone I am acquainted with saw us and said, “Oh, hi! How are you?” 

Now, I have to preface the rest of this by saying that I am fully aware this is considered a normal, polite way to greet someone; still, I literally never know how to answer this question. I think this is in part because I’m just bad at being a human who talks to people, but also because I know it’s polite to say, “Good,” and just move along, but that seems reductive and disingenuous, and I hate that.

Anyway— in answer to this question, I simply gave an exasperated shrug. She chuckled and asked, “Living the dream, right?” to which I sarcastically replied, “Oh, yeah,” and awkwardly walked away (again, bad at being a normal human). And let me tell you, I felt the shame wash over me immediately. Because although my girls might not be able to understand my conversations with other adults quite yet, they will someday soon, and I never, ever want them to feel like their existence is a burden to me. 

In what is probably an unconscious effort to legitimize work that has been devalued for centuries, mothers will sometimes talk about parenting as if it’s the worst thing that has ever happened to them. If you’ve ever been a new parent, you probably know exactly what I’m talking about. When we were newly expectant parents, we constantly heard refrains of “Sleep now because you’ll never sleep again once that baby’s born” (That’s not how sleep works, Karen. Also, you will sleep again. Promise.) and, “Oh gosh, birth/breastfeeding/postpartum/potty training/literally-anything-to-do-with-raising-tiny-humans is just awful! Good luck with that.” But what these people are often not telling you is how truly awesome parenting can be. It’s like there’s some tacit agreement between moms that we can’t share the joys of motherhood, lest people think it’s easy, thereby discrediting the parts that are not-so glamorous. 

And I don’t want to sugarcoat it. Being a mom is hard. It always has been, and anyone who will tell you differently has either never been a mom or they’re just straight-up lying (or maybe a masochist…?).  For every generation of parents, there have been different challenges that are just products of the times, but I’d argue that today’s current climate is perhaps the toughest time in which to raise children. Sure, we have screens to distract them when they’re being tiny terrors, but we also have to combat the constant mom-guilt that comes from all directions, but chiefly from social media and the internet in general. If I’m scrolling Instagram and see a mom taking her kids to the pumpkin patch while I’m sitting on the couch nursing my baby and feeding my toddler an endless stream of veggie straws, I immediately feel like I’m shorting my kids. If I open Pinterest and see a cute craft or activity, I immediately feel ashamed that I’m not doing those things with my kids more often. Even if you don’t use social media, there are the constant news articles about any number of horrific ways your baby or toddler can be put in danger (like, did you know that postpartum hair loss can cause hair to get wrapped around any one of your baby’s tiny limbs and possibly result in amputation? Well, I did BECAUSE I LITERALLY READ A NEWS ARTICLE ABOUT THAT THE OTHER DAY, and now I’m feeling guilty about not checking to see if my hair got wrapped around my baby’s ankle before I put her down for the night). You honestly can’t escape it. And, yeah, there are tantrums and diaper blowouts and tears and trying to teach your kids to share and trying to defend your parenting style to anybody who has something to say about the way you’re trying to raise your own kids. It’s a never ending list. And, yes, that shit is hard. 

However, along with the challenges that motherhood brings, there are also immeasurable joys that come from raising tiny humans. And, honestly, I’d endure all the challenging parts ten times over just to see the smiles on my babies’ faces. As with most things in life, motherhood is a give and take. There are so many milestones your little one will reach in time that will simultaneously break your heart and make it swell to bursting with pride. There are so many times your toddler will make you want to lose your mind, and in the next second, will have you belly-laughing ‘til you pee your pants (if you know, you know). There are days that seem so damn long and days you wish could last forever. 

So in answer to those questions: 

How am I doing? Great, most of the time. I mean, my girls are the literal best. They’re both so smart and funny and growing so quickly, but I did definitely just find what is either chocolate or fecal matter on the back of my knee cap AND HOW THE HELL DID THAT GET THERE? Because the last time my kid pooped was yesterday, but I don’t think she’s had chocolate today either. 

Living the dream? Oh, Hell yeah. Or at least, a chapter of the dream. It won’t be like this forever, and that’s both sad and wonderful. I have a life that some people–past versions of myself, even– pray and hope for on a daily basis. And I’m not going to waste time convincing you that my job as a mother is the worst thing I’ve ever endured, and I’m not going to tell you it’s all sunshine, rainbows, baby kisses, and toddler hugs either. 

What I will tell you is this: I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

To the library moms

A few weeks ago, with the best of intentions, I decided to take my girls to the library for story time. I thought it would be a great experience for all of us. My youngest could get some time out of the house. My oldest could listen to a story, be around some other kids, and make a craft. I could get some more practice getting my two kids packed and into the car on my own. 

My toddler had other plans though. 

I’ll start by saying we were running late. Story time started at 10, and we started getting ready to head out at 9:30, which would’ve been way more than enough time to make the 5 minute drive to the library if my baby hadn’t decided she needed to be nursed again right now. Directly after this nursing session, she proceeded to have a mega blowout diaper which required a complete wardrobe change for both of us. 

Then, as we were getting loaded into the van, my toddler decided that she’d rather play with her chalk than get in her car seat. Once I had the baby strapped in, I went to grab the toddler, who promptly decided that she was going to make a run for it. I caught her, scooped her up into my arms, and strapped her into her seat while she was kicking and screaming. I tried to calm her with, “Hey, babe, we’re going to the library! It’s going to be so much fun!” but I don’t know who I was really trying to convince, my toddler or myself.

Still I was proud that we walked into the library at 10:02. I figured there might be a little bit of a grace period considering it was an event for kids, but I thought wrong. Clearly, other people aren’t such a hot mess and can get out of their house in such a way that doesn’t resemble wrangling animals at the zoo. So the story had started, but everyone was sweet and made room for me and my girls.

As all the other kids sat calmly in their mothers’ laps listening to the story, my kid began to get up and mill through the crowd. Then she started shouting the names and sounds of the animals on the rug upon which everyone was sitting. While the other toddlers attentively watched the librarian use magnetic dinosaurs to act out the story, my kid was trying to take them from the magnet board. As the other kids and their moms sat down at tables to complete the adorable dinosaur craft, my kid was screaming at the top of her lungs and began kicking and hitting me when I tried to calm her down. 

I was unbelievably embarrassed, but since we’ve entered toddlerhood, I’ve been working a lot on remaining calm while holding boundaries. Because, to me, it seems counterintuitive to lose my shit in an effort to get her to stop losing her shit. So, I kneeled down and said, “It seems like you’re feeling frustrated. That stinks. Why don’t we try to calm down and make a cool dino?” But she would have none of it, and only wanted to play with the magnets the librarian had been using previously. 

At this point, after chasing around my toddler while my 2 month old baby was strapped to my chest, I was sweaty, exhausted, and moments from completely losing it. I felt like a total failure and kept asking myself, What am I doing wrong? Why is my kid the only one being difficult? Why can’t she just listen for once? 

Then the librarian walked over. I expected her to maybe chide me or tell me to leave, but she said to me, “You know, she doesn’t have to make the craft. She can play with those magnets if she wants to. I made them for the kids. We have some sand I can get out, too. We also have some animal puppets if she’d like that.”  What an angel. 

And as the other toys came out and crafts were finished, the other kids came over to play too and their moms with them. I was dreading superior smirks and Oh-bless-your-heart smiles, but I got none of that. 

Instead, one mom leaned in and said, “Don’t worry. It was my kid’s day to do all that yesterday.” 

Another chimed in to say, “Yeah, really. Don’t worry about it. We all go through these kinds of days with toddlers.” 

And one more added, “Mine is a terror, like, 75% of the time. We just got lucky today.”

The relief I felt upon hearing those things was almost enough to make me cry. Because it would have been so easy for these women to slip into a feeling of self-righteousness and completely ignore me or offer unsolicited advice. Instead, these women, who were complete strangers, sat with me and said We get it. You’re not alone. 

This was such an incredibly pleasant surprise in an age where mom-shaming is as easy as typing out some sanctimonious comment and hitting “Send.” The wealth of information that exists at the tips of our fingers helps us as much as it hurts us when we use it to constantly evaluate and criticize other parents. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, these are some of the hardest times in which to raise children. So rather than offering advice or critiques when we see someone struggling, in real life or online, let’s try “I get it. I’ve been there,” instead.

Today, I raise my mug to the library moms. May we learn from their example.