i've now entered the ninth month of
pregnancy. i've experienced almost all that pregnancy has to offer, sans the
'labor and delivery part,' and i have one glaring observation about the whole
experience of being pregnant. the best part about being pregnant, of course, is
that it will end after nine months. ...oh, and of course, that it will end with
a baby. yes, that is important.
however, the worst part about being
pregnant, for me, wasn't physical or mental. it wasn't going to work and
vomiting in the trash can next to my desk or having an emotional breakdown while
walking two blocks to my car in 115 temperatures at 37 weeks. it wasn't the
diarrhea or constipation, the crazy, sudden stinging nipple sensations or the
inability to wear shoes. it wasn't even the physical exhaustion or the braxton
hicks that woke me, sure 'this is the moment of labor... and i'm only 24 weeks!'
it wasn't even the mad rush to get everything completed before she arrives, and
the crazy midnight assembling of an impossible pack-n-play.
no... the
worst part about being pregnant was probably other people.
i know that
most people are well-intentioned; in fact, a majority of people are VERY well
intentioned. they want to share their knowledge with you. they want to share
their birth experience with you, or their medical knowledge with you. they have
a need to share what they've learned in books, or through their parents, or on
oprah or dr. oz. and it's incredibly REAL and IMPORTANT... to them. the minute
my huge belly comes into view, three to five prerequisite questions are asked,
after the initial 'so when are you due?' at first, i found it incredibly odd
that sometimes perfect strangers would ask such personal questions of me, but
now i realize this is just the politics of being a woman about to have a child.
the questions range from a variation of the following:
'are you going to
breastfeed?' this usually includes a dissertation on how long you should
breastfeed.
'have you read ____________ (insert book here, but usually
either 'what to expect...,' 'spiritual midwifery,' 'the happiest baby on the
block,' and/or any book by penny simkin or dr. spock).
'where are you
delivering?' and their inevitable response that what you've chosen is/isn't a
good place to deliver and how much they loved/hated their choice.
'are
you delivering 'natural' or not?' let's not even bring up the can of worms this
answer will open.
'are you going to stay at home or go back to work?'
ditto on the can of worms philosophy with this one.
now, these questions
seem nice and innocent enough, right? until you are the pregnant woman on the
receiving end of them, and every pregnant woman or woman who has kids knows what
i'm talking about:
the answers to these questions becomes a political and
philosophical MINEFIELD.
who knew that having a baby could stir up so
many staunch opinions, ready to be unleashed, with loaded phrases to induce
guilt into any (already highly emotional and often scared) pregnant woman. as if
making it to 12 weeks (sometimes going weeks without getting the reassurance of
listening to a doppler heartbeat) wasn't scary enough, now you have to worry
about whether or not that mile you just ran or taste of wine you just had was
'wrong,' due to an onlooker unsoliciting-ly asking you, 'are you sure you should
be doing that?
yes, people become experts at being pregnant even if
they've never done it. i remember the first-time-shock of a super skinny,
20-something, biracial hipster waitress with hand and armband tattoos eying me
when i was obviously pregnant, as i had ordered a cup of coffee in her
ultra-cool, super-organic, all-local farmer's market restaurant. she actually
had the nerve to pause and ask me, 'now wait... are you sure? can you even have
coffee when you are pregnant?'
this, from a young woman who likely
believed that labor and delivery happened exactly the way you see it on Grey's
Anatomy.
and i'll admit it. i used to be 'that' girl. i was the
marathon-running, vegetarian coolio who bought organic, chemical-free, dye-free,
fragrance-free soap and used only sulfate-free laundry detergent crafted from
the urine of indigenous island folk who spoke only in tongue clicks. i bought
recycled toilet paper, and balked at people who had the audacity to eat fast
food. i continued to run several miles a week until just a few weeks ago, and i
was certainly not going to be one of the women who got swollen feet in the last
few weeks, because i was doing everything right.
and now, in this last
month it isn't unusual for me to have a dinner that consists of two hot dogs and
cocoa puffs. to top it off, most friday nights i beg my husband for a dinner of
mcnuggets and fries, and eat EVERY LAST BITE of them, because i can't fathom the
idea of having to cook, and i just want to be 'not hungry' and 'not hungry NOW.'
at present time i haven't washed my hair in 4 days and i consistently wear my
husband's t-shirts and shoes. my feet are the size of a bee-stinging victim's,
and i resort to coffee on a regular basis. i've even had a few nights where i
indulged in a 1/2 glass of *gasp* wine. ...and not the non-alcoholic kind of my
early pregnancy.
it's not that i've reached a point of all hell breaking
loose and a total disregard for pregnancy safety, it's just that i've reached a
point where i've become way less idealistic and way more practical. i can't be
idealistic all of the time; it's too much in pregnancy. the pressure is
incredibly intense, even for me: a well-adjusted, 'older' woman with a stubborn
streak and high self-assurance. a pregnant mother has so much weighing on her,
with what she 'can' and 'cannot' eat, and do, and plan.
she is supposed
to lay a certain way in bed every night to sleep, in order to give her baby the
best blood flow. she supposed to walk as much as possible, and sitting on the
couch at night is frowned upon, because it 'causes the pelvis to relax and
narrow, rather than open.' she is supposed to still get up every morning, even
with night after night of shitty sleep due to nausea, or peeing ten times, or
horrible back and hip pain, and still get to work on time. she is supposed to
drive in rush-hour traffic as if it doesn't matter that her stomach is
precariously close to the steering wheel. she is supposed to have high-quality,
protein packed, perfectly balanced meals and her practitioner will require her
to spend a few days tracking what she eats to ensure it meets a certain
standard. she will be hounded at medical appointments to go over said food
diary. she will be asked if she wants to have genetic testing performed (or be
told it is required because she is 35 or older) and she will be dammed by some
if she does and dammed by others if she doesn't. she will have to consider the
horrible dangers of vaccinations versus the lifesaving and communal benefits
they offer, and will again be dammed by someone because she chooses to vaccinate
or not.
let's not even approach breastfeeding in one single blog entry,
for sanity's sake.
the biggest and most heated topic is the choice of how
to birth: 'natural' (the wording even offers the subtle assumption that birthing
any other way than vaginally is inferior) or 'medicated' or even worse yet, the
dreaded 'c-section.'
and all the while, she has to keep her composure,
smile, and try to entertain the endless conversations that inevitably (and
endlessly) occur regarding all of these topics, all because when you are
pregnant and get together with a group of women, this is what you talk about.
and nothing polarizes a group of women like the discussions surrounding these
topics. nothing else offers more unsolicited opinions and
superiority/inferiority complexes like these topics.
it's exhausting. and
in my pre-pregnancy naivety, i thought it was so simple.
i completed the
ever-popular bradley classes. i maintained a meat-minimalist diet throughout
pregnancy, and i consistently exercised. i faithfully attended doctor's
appointments, went to the chiropractor for back and hip pain to avoid OTC pain
relievers, and i read every damn baby book there is. i studied zen buddhism
meditation in order to have the most 'natural,' calm, and out-of-hospital birth
possible. i was super pregnant woman, and i felt like a goddess.
and
then, it happened: life's little (big) lesson.
an unsure midwife and
subsequent ultrasound at week 35 revealed the impossible: this baby is
breech.
breech means that your options become more limited. depending on
where you live, this means 'automatic c-section.' this means a hospital, an
invasive procedure, an epidural, no 'natural' laboring hormones, and weeks of
recovery while taking more prescription medication in order to cope with the
pain while trying to nurse your new child. i had never even considered this
might happen to me.
of course, there are underground networks that you
can research. i tell my story to people and suddenly i hear there are things i
should be doing:
-find a doctor or (better yet!) a midwife who will
attend a breech vaginal birth! see if you can have one out of the hospital while
you are at it!
-try chiropractic care to get the baby to turn! insurance
won't cover it, but it's so worth it at $65-$100 a session!
- try
hypnotherapy!
-try acupuncture!
-try moxibustion!
-find a doctor
willing to try an external version!
you must, must, must now exhaust
these resources. you must not surrender. you must not give in, you must rally
against the fate of having a procedure you didn't want. you must not leave any
stone unturned. you can even fight it to the end: allow yourself to go into
labor, show up at a hospital, and refuse a c-section! you can! fight for your
right to labor!
well, you know what?
i'm calling uncle, i'm
calling time out, i'm calling BS.
i know i have these options. i know
that i can rally until the last minute against what fate is bringing
me.
but at 37 weeks, quite frankly, i'm tired. i'm more inclined to
surrender than to fight it. this does not make me any less of a
mother-to-be.
if she's breech and decides to stay that way.... let her,
dammit.
it isn't due to some type of psychodynamic underlying fear that i
have that she won't turn. it wasn't because i had coffee, or i ran that 5k at
seven months. it wasn't because i had a hot dog or two or because there were
nights i just couldn't sleep on my left side anymore. it's not because i haven't
relaxed enough or given 'hypnobabies' a chance. it's not because i've failed to
try moxibustion or the knee-chest position three times a day.
or it might
be all of the above. it doesn't matter.
there comes a magical switch for
someone like me during the ninth month of pregnancy, and it goes like
this:
i don't care how she gets here. it's no longer my battle and
frankly, it's no longer my choice to force. it's her choice, and as long as she
gets here safe and happy, i'm the mother of the year because i let it go, and
let it happen.
that's the right choice.
and dammit, i RESERVE my
right to say these things. i reserve my right to say enough is enough and not
feel guilty that i didn't exhaust every option in order to get what i wanted. i
reserve the right to bitch about people who piss me off with idealisms that i
just can't practically adhere to. and i fully uphold their right to be pissed
off and abhorred by my heathen words. that's what makes us parents. we judge, we
feel superior and inferior, and we have to live with the choices we
make.
in the end, i've lost the ability to argue most points about
pregnancy and idealism. it isn't fair, and it isn't productive. and honestly,
THANK GOODNESS for this breech reality check. i needed it. the choices women
make before, during, and after pregnancy are as intensely personal and sacred as
her own religion, politics, and morals. ...and they should all be respected as
such. the last thing we should do is alienate someone who is doing what they
feel most capable of doing. i believe we are all truly operating at our highest
capacity at any given moment, and if that means a dinner of hot dogs and cocoa
puffs the night before our scheduled c-section, then dammit...
that's
ok.
maybe next week i'll have the organic spinach salad and tofu while
reading the buddhacarita.
(or fifty shades of grey. i'm sure it all will
eventually have implicit meaning.)
i take a deep breath and shout my
rallying cry:
IT'S OK.
(i would love to give credit
for the blog photo, but i have no idea anymore where i found it or how to give
it credit. if anyone does, please let me know for i find it smart and
hilarious.)
