A Successful Disappointment - AKA: My birth story and dealing with mommy guilt.

There is a Mr. Man asleep next to me right now, who in my not-so-humble opinion is one of the most perfect Mr. Mans in all the world.  He’s got soft dark hair, cute baby smiles at six weeks old, and behaves pretty much like a textbook baby.  In fact, almost everything about him and his arrival was text book in some ways.

In other ways, there have been many changes to my life, to my home, to myself that it almost feels like a whole new experience.  I suppose the birth of every child feels that way, whether you've had one or fifty.  Which is why I'm frustrated that no one has published a book aimed at third, fourth or fifth time mothers just to assuage the guilt or confusion that comes with having another child.  

Maybe I could do it.  It would be titled “It’s Okay, You Can Feel Nervous and Scared and Inexperienced Even if This Isn’t Your First Time.”  

I expect that title could apply to many things in life… birth and parenting being two out of two thousand possibilities. 

I didn't expect to feel so overwhelmed and full of questions again.  After all, I've birthed two other children and breastfed them both, why should I have questions?  

Speaking of birth, I've had both a C-Section and a VBAC so it’s automatically assumed by many that I should be a pro at all of this.  In fact, looking back I think that I was arrogant and assumed this.  My pregnancy was pretty much textbook, and I knew what I wanted out of everything… I was more aware about what my body could do, and I had assembled a support team that was unavailable the first two times.  I arrogantly assumed I had all my bases covered.

Unfortunately, my arrogance made an ass out of me.  Or at least I feel that way.

Despite aging, despite growing and changing, despite having my world rocked by what I thought I wanted to be as a parent vs. what I actually am, I’m incredibly naive.  It’s kind of cute, I suppose.  My optimism is a good thing in some respects, but when it comes to what I think and believe I’m capable of, I’m beginning to wonder if I overestimate myself.

I mentioned that my pregnancy was textbook, and it was.  I measured right on at every appointment, had normal blood pressure, sugar levels, Braxton-hicks contractions, etc. I even went over my due date like textbook pregnancies do.  Though I experienced the similar frustrations of every pregnant woman, I had no reason to suspect that my labor would be anything out of the ordinary.

And to my expectations, it wasn’t.  My contractions started at around 6:00 in the morning, became progressively worse as I let my husband know it was happening and called my doula to tell her to get ready.  I arrived at the hospital, was monitored and confirmed that I was contracting regularly.  It was at this point that my plans began to change from my previous births, and I really began to test myself.

I advised I was going to try to do things without an epidural or any other pain medicine, having convinced myself that I when I had a VBAC with my 2^nd pregnancy, the only thing that kept me from delivering her on the 28^th instead of the 29^th was an epidural that slowed my labor.  The rest of it went off without a hitch, and in-between then and this time I’d read stories, I’d practiced breathing, I learned about the support of doulas and I felt I was ready to do this.

I was ready to stand up for myself and have the birth I wanted.  I declined having them break my water right away, but later consented to it as things “progressed.”  

Well… kind of progressed.  

Despite shifting positions, standing upright, and contracting regularly… after an hour at the hospital I was still at 5cm.  As anyone who's had a hospital birth, especially a VBAC hospital birth, they like to put you on that "shot clock" the moment you get in.  When I let the doctor break my water, he did mention "it's either that or send you home to see what happens..."  

Would they have sent me home?  

Probably not, seeing as how I was a VBAC and I was "not allowed" to labor at home... let my uterus rupture.  

Could I have pushed back? Probably, but I wanted to get things moving because it was going to happen anyway.  If that was the only augmentation I had that was fine, and if I hadn’t gone into labor on my own I was going to have them break my water later on in the week to “encourage” the beginning of contractions.  

AROM is preferable to me than a repeat C-section.  The action did confirm that yet another child of mine had passed meconium in the fluid.  There went my dream of holding baby right after birth… but I was still okay at this point.

Panic didn’t set in until after my water began leaking out.  From all my readings and studying for birth, I knew that contractions become more painful after your water has broken.  Still though, I had my husband, my doula, my breathing and my wits… I felt I could do this.

…

As anyone who embraces birth and reads about it will know, there are numerous support blogs for women who wish to labor without pain medicine.  There are coping mechanisms, positive comments, and empowering stories of women who braved 30 hours of labor for their beautiful children.  I applaud these women.  I know women now who’ve birthed at home, fought hospital administrations and all kinds of restrictions to have the births they've wanted.  I know about birthing centers, hypnobirthing, and know people who've been through labor without any meds and lived to tell about it.  I applaud them, I admire them.

I’m not one of them.

Eventually, my contractions got to the point that I couldn't handle it.  Coupled with the fact that when I broke down and decided I couldn't handle it and wanted medicine, the anesthesiologist was tied up in surgery and couldn't get to me. 

Despite my relatively calm demeanor in life, I’m really a control freak.  I like to have control over what is happening to me.  And as long as I feel in control, I’m able to handle pretty much anything.  Had I been told that the doctor would be there in a few minutes, I probably would have been fine.   But they couldn't give me a time frame (not their fault), and I began to panic.  

Panic + Labor Pains = not calm behavior.

Aside from this, the contractions were becoming more painful, and as anyone who’s birthed a child knows, it gets worse before it gets better.  It was at this point that I began to act in what I consider an inappropriate manner for myself.  Were it anyone else, it would have been completely appropriate since they were in pain and they were dealing with it; for me and my control freak tendencies… it was abhorrent.

I had contractions where it was all I could do not to scream, and contractions where I did scream.  Contractions where I moaned, and cried actual tears.  I begged for some relief, I cried that I couldn't do it… there was no way I could.  Then I would calm down and sanity would return for a moment, during which I would apologize for my behavior until  the next one started.  I lived in fear of the next one… fear that I really wasn't strong enough to accomplish this.  I remember thinking, you're screaming about a contraction... how in the HELL are you going to push a baby out?

Was all this normal?  Yes!  Textbook?  Yes?  Appropriate?  Probably… YES!

But I couldn't help the overwhelming guilty feeling that crept in and ate away at any confidence I had left. 

It was all for naught though, because the man with the large needle DID make it to my room (though I was thoroughly convinced he wasn't going to since I was IN transition when they gave me the drugs).  The medicine had time to kick in, and then I was pushing.  

And before I could even really grasp the concept that I was pushing, little man was out via vacuum extraction.  

Apparently, not only do my children like to poop during labor, but they also like to get tangled in their cords.  My first tied himself up so much that he couldn't descend properly, leading to a C-section.  My 2^nd was a VBAC, but she’d tied a knot in the cord AND wrapped it around her neck.  Mr. Man just didn’t grow a very long cord and had it wrapped very tightly around his neck… but all was well.  And speedy!  I don’t think I even pushed for ten minutes.

Was my birth a success?  Yes, it was.  I’m okay with everything that happened.  I felt safe with my partner and ecstatic about my doula; my nurse was fantastic, my doctor was a doctor – he was blunt, but he did his job and let me have most of the control.  I successfully had another VBAC despite being overdue, despite any risks that there may have been.  It was a success; it was textbook.

Do I feel emotionally satisfied?  No.  I’m angry that I feel so much guilt over needing pain medicine.  I’m angry that I lacked the confidence to BELIEVE in myself.  I’m angry that I feel guilty over how I reacted when I was in pain, and I STILL feel horribly guilty for any screaming or yelling that I may have done.  This guilt is not warranted, it’s unnecessary, and knowing that makes me even angrier. 

Granted, this irritation at myself does nothing to assuage my love for my little bundle, and my appreciation for everyone who supported me.  Nor does it diminish my admiration for others who have gone down the birth path, with or without pain medicine.  Any successful birth is a joy, and every woman is strong and deserves to feel safe and confident in herself and her abilities. 

But in a culture that embraces and exalts women who labor at home or push through delivery without meds, have non-textbook pregnancies and labors that are difficult to handle, or are confident enough in themselves that they know what kind of labor and delivery they want (whether C-section, planned epidural, or completely natural) I feel like a failure because I doubted myself.  I feel personally unsuccessful that I was unable to conquer my own fear, battle my own pain, or just accept my own limits.   

Mommy guilt is unnecessary and cruel – especially when it comes from within.  My hope for myself, and my goal in writing this, was to put my feelings out there to acknowledge how silly they are, and maybe stop them from wreaking havoc inside my head.  And my goal in supporting others through their journey is to let them know that NO MATTER what happens during their labors, deliveries, 4^th trimesters or parenting journeys – no matter how they choose to birth or where they want it to happen – they’re strong, courageous, and worthy of praise. 

Just like I am… even if I don’t feel that way.