A Surprisingly Sane Blog

The number one fact that I get bizarre reactions to: “I gave birth at home.”

The most common reaction I get: “What do you mean you gave birth at home?”

The snide answer that sometimes erupts: “As in, a baby emerged from my vagina while I was in a tub of warm water in the comfort of my own living room.”

The frequent reply: “On purpose? Where was the doctor?”

The other frequent reply: “Oh my gosh, why would you do that? Did you have an epidural?”

(Yes, in the middle of my living room, James shoved a several-inch needle into my spinal cord, shot me full of numbing stuff, and the baby just slid out of me while my legs gaped open like Jaws in the water.)

You don’t need a doctor to give birth, okay? In this over-medicalized country, we have forgotten a pretty simple fact: In MOST cases, birth is a healthy, natural process. It needs not to be interrupted by continuous fetal monitoring, needles stuck in the mom’s veins, unnatural laboring positions, and nurses yelling “PUSH PUSH PUSH PUSH PUSH PUSH” while you’re trying to have a baby. You don’t need a blood pressure cuff stuck to your arm, or drugs to “speed up” labor, or some kind of happy-serum to take the pain away. You also don’t “need” an “emergency c-section” in almost all cases. Or even to have the kid extracted from your lower abdomen if it’s trying to show its ass off to the world first, in most cases.

This is the norm in the USA, and it has caused this country to have terrible stats in comparison to other developed countries. Did you know that out of all the developed western world, the USA is pretty much at the bottom of the barrel for mom/baby mortality rates and in-labor/birth safety?

Ever wonder why?

It’s no mystery. Quite simply, there’s an overload of messing with a natural process that knows how to take care of itself. Yes, there are cases where c-sections save lives and are necessary, but did you know that the vast majority of c-sections could have been avoided? And did you realize that while they’re ridiculously common, they’re actually a MAJOR surgery, women die from them every day, and they’re not actually as safe as we all seem to think?

Unfortunately, as soon as we check ourselves into a hospital to give birth, we are on a stopwatch. Labor is expected to progress in a timely manner, we are checked constantly, many moms forced to lie on their backs or in an uncomfortable position which their baby is monitored. Every dip or spike in blood pressure and/or heart rate sends alarm through the hospital staff. We’re told we’re not progressing, we’re uncomfortable, the doc mentions a little “Pitocin” to get those contractions going. We consent to it because we’re exhausted, in pain, and we just want this baby out of us. Contractions are way too much, so we end up begging for an epidural. (Sad side note: Pitocin and Epidurals have never been proven to be safe to the unborn baby). Additionally, the kind of contractions Pitocin produces are not only strong and rougher on the baby and us, but they are not the same kind of contraction that the body naturally produces. A “natural” contraction stars at the top of the uterus and squeezes downward. As a result, the baby’s natural reflex of pushing back with its feet comes into effect, and it helps itself out of there, making the contractions more effective. There is a natural rise and fall with the baby’s heart rate during these contractions- it’s NORMAL, and it doesn’t mean it’s going into distress. Pitocin doesn’t really allow for this process to happen: it squeezes the shit out of our baby all at once or all over the place, and the baby can’t effectively push back. It squeezes a little too hard, a little too long, and before you know it, it becomes a true emergency to get that baby out. Enter the world of “emergency c-section”.

Really, it didn’t have to be. It could have been avoided. It’s an emergency because the doctor didn’t allow our body to take its time and do its thing naturally. Adding an epidural to the equation? It frequently (not necessarily always) slows down the contractions, changes heart rates, and overall affects the birth quite a bit. Yeah, it might not hurt as much, but at the same time we ARE introducing potential danger both to ourselves and to our baby.

Now, with all that said, I also want to say this: I am NOT against choosing whatever type of birth one wants to have. You want an elective c-section? Go for it! You choose to have an epidural? Shit, I know how bad it hurts, and I understand if someone doesn’t want to chance it. Just be aware of the risks, and DON’T let your doctor talk you into it while you’re in a vulnerable spot. Be aware of the decisions you’re making, know the options and all the potential dangers BEFORE they’re presented in that crucial moment.

But that’s where my empathy for messing with a natural process flat-out ends. Obstetricians are not trained in natural birth. They are trained SURGEONS. They are trained to control the process of birth, make it convenient for the mom and themselves, and to make as much money off of this should-be natural process as humanly possible.

There are most certainly cases where emergencies arise, and thank God we have doctors in this country to be there to take care of things when we need them. However, besides that? Um… yeah… I realized personally that there was NO REASON to ask a doctor to help me with my birth. I was healthy, my girls were in the right position, and I didn’t want some damn doc shoving his fingers up my vag to check how far dilated I was, then forcing me to lay on my back, the most unnatural position to be in when you’re pregnant, so they could monitor my my baby for half an hour.

You know how much “dilation” tells you about when your baby is gonna be born? NOTHING! Nothing at all except how many centimeters in that exact moment your cervix is dilated. It could stay at 5 cm for 3 weeks, or you could be 10 cm in 10 minutes. It means NOTHING. Why the hell do they insist on checking, giving us false hope? GAHHHH!

I asked certified nurse midwives, backed up with RNs, to assist me for both of my births. They are trained to spot emergencies at the very first signs. Birthed naturally, very rarely are there actually complications. And the word “nurse” in front of midwife doesn’t necessarily mean better, for the record. Did you ever check the stats for how many maternal/baby deaths there are in home births and free-standing birth centers in what appeared to be healthy moms/babies in comparison to hospitals? No?

Do you think homebirths, birthcenters, or having a midwife present was a stupid, irresponsible decision? Think again, and do a little research.

Not only do women report a MUCH higher satisfaction rate, but the statistics regarding healthy births, moms, and babies are high enough to get one to look over at the stats in Norway and actually understand why they can have such better mortality rates. With a greatly increased rate of midwives, natural births, home births, etc., it’s no wonder they’re the top place to be a mom in the world.

I did all this research before having my first baby because I ran into a doctor that I HATED. If I questioned something, he’d say something to try to terrify me into leaving it alone. I realized that if I stuck with him, I’d be in horrible hands. I wanted natural births because I felt safer allowing my body to just do its thing. I was’t afraid of the pain, and even if I had been, I knew I was going to live through it. I had a 26 hour labor with my first, a rough back labor, and a painful entry with a bad tear. You know what? If I’d been in a hospital, that would have most likely been an “emergency c-section”. It wasn’t easy, but it was so worth it. I had an alert, healthy baby, I recovered pretty quickly, and I was home the next morning. A nurse came to my house a couple days later to check on me and Julie, and it was wonderful having that caring of women to help me out. Docs sure as hell don’t do house calls in this country!

With my second, a home birth was no question. I wanted to be where I felt safe and comfortable, and I was with an amazing midwife. It happened so fast that had I chosen a hospital birth, I would have made it as far as my car before April came flying out.

So yes, world, I had a homebirth. I had two completely natural water births. It wasn’t a big deal, really, but it WAS the safest, most comfortable option. And I’m so glad I did it that way. You don’t need to look at me like I sprouted a alien on my cheekbone. Home births actually make up for way more births in this world than hospital births… I’m not as weird as you probably think.

Current Mood: Cool

A week or two ago, one of my cyber friends posted pictures of her beautiful 1-month-old baby along with a caption that read how she couldn’t believe how fast the time had gone and that it’d been the best month of her life.

It was a lovely post, and I felt like someone punched me in the gut when I saw it. Yeah, you saw that right. It wasn’t her fault at all, it just happened to be the wrong post for me to see at the wrong time. It took me a second to figure out why I had that reaction. I mean, I smiled when I saw it and thought, Awww… that is so sweet, and at the same time, I had inner turmoil bubbling to the surface.

I had to look away from the post. It started hurting to much.

I was never that mom. I wanted to be so badly. I’d aways dreamed of holding a new baby in my arms and relishing in the love and attachment that comes with new motherhood.

But I never got that.

Instead, I got too-big babies that damaged my body to the point where I couldn’t take a shit because my rectum was so prolapsed it was falling out of my vag. I started shaking when my babies would cry because I hated the sound and just wanted it to go away. I had dreams that I was harming my beautiful babies and woke myself gasping for breath and checking on them to make sure it wasn’t real. Instead of holding my new bundles of joy proudly and lovingly nursing them, I experienced anxiety attacks while they were feeding off my boobs like leeches in my mind. Instead of fond memories of those first months, I have a near blank-spot in my normally extremely excellent memory of April’s first year. Instead of spending my days at home thinking it was the best time of my life, I was sitting on the bathroom floor at night, half-naked, rocking on the floor with my skin clammy and a knife in my hand while my husband threatened to call and have them come take me away.

My memories of being at the mental health crisis center, how terrified I was, the Safe Zone sticker on the wall, and the diagnosis of Postpartum Depression, Anxiety, and OCD… and being borderline psychosis… those are my “fond” memories of new motherhood. The drugs, the therapy, the God-awful experience with the support group. Finishing breastfeeding and being thrown for a whole other loop when the hormones changes and my need for different drugs were necessary. The horrific suicidal moments when I ingested prescribed drugs that were toxic to my system.

And in the midst of this, making stupid decisions, writing stupid blogs, and learning that people that I thought were friends were stabbing me in the back and painting me as a villain. All when it was out of my control. It’s taken me to this point to forgive myself and understand that I wasn’t in a position of rational thinking, nor could I see the severity of choices that I made.

Yes, those were my “happy” new mom moments.

I never had that chance, and I never will.

Current Mood: Sad

“Vagina looser after giving birth”

Yes, my blog got pulled with that search. Gee, I wonder why. Let’s ponder.

Sigh. Sweetheart, I’m sorry you’re struggling with this.

Yes, after a watermelon tears through your Vag, it will never be the same again. It’s not physically possible. That tissue was designed to stretch, but the cruel fact of nature is this: once you stretch that rubber band, it will never be as elastic or tight as it was before you stretched it.

For some reason, society has taught us that at tighter hoo-haw is better. Guys prefer it, or so we learn. It feels better for their little members, even though it really doesn’t. In some religion, once a man makes it into heaven, he get to fuck the bajeezus out of 40 virgins because what men really want is a nice, super tight squeeze over and over again. We lovely mamas who have endured vaginal birth are taught to squeeze those PC muscles like all hell to tighten up that grip and try to re-transform our destroyed Ms. V into something fresh and new again.  But from what I’ve seen and researched, our efforts are kind of in vain.

Do you remember what it was like to lose your virginity? Was your guy as terrified as mine was because he was certain it felt like he was ripping your insides in half? I’ve spoken to my husband and guy friends pretty extensively about this, and from what I’ve heard, not only would none of them choose to de-virginize another partner, but how tight or loose you are makes absolutely no difference to them whatsoever. A tighter vagina does not make for a better feeling sexual experience, just light a small penis does not necessarily have to make for a less-than-ideal feel.

Quite simply, it’s the woman they’re with that does the trick. If they find you sexy and attractive, you could have a canon for a baby-chute, and you’d still drive them wild.

Besides, from a woman’s perspective who has AGONIZED over this very problem, thanks to a not-so-big vag plus two huge babies plus a severe tear, bad stitch job, horrible scar tissue, and a whopping three kinds of prolapse (bladder, rectum, and uterus) in addition to an uncomfortable retroverted uterus and months of pelvic floor recovery physical therapy… NEED I GO ON?… um, yeah, maybe I can put some of your fears to rest.

Sex is better for me after having kids. Period. I am still self-conscious about the mess that once appeared to be a vagina and now looks more like a scar-and-prolapse fest (though still unmistakably a cha-cha), but the sensations are much stronger, orgasms easy and powerful, and there’s less pain than I had when things were “too tight” down there. Though more pain in some ways due to the scarring and prolapse… but that’s easy to block out when the rest feels so much better, and something I plan to have fixed with surgery one of these days.

Really, the amount of looseness you’re fearing is probably minimal. With time, the muscle tone returns and you’ll feel less “loose” to yourself, and also in time, you’ll be more accepting of what you’re experiencing. Well, hopefully. I still have some issues surrounding it, but I’m kind of a freak.

And if your partner complains AT ALL, tell him to fuck off and get yourself a sex buddy that loves your body for what it is. Someone who complains doesn’t deserve the honor of being near your goddess-vagina that birthed his baby. In which case, call me. I’ll come shove a football up his ass and make him shit it out so that he has some clue what you’ve been through.

Amen.

Current Mood: Alarmed

It used to be that if you get pregnant over 35 you were considered a “high risk” pregnancy. Higher chance of twins, miscarriage, unhealthy shit, and babies born with disabilities. In fact, 30 was kind of “old” to start a family.

Today, I’m starting to wonder if any of those “famous” people under 35 would ever even dream of getting pregnant before they’re considered “old” and “high risk”.

Funny how times have changed, even since I’ve been around on this earth.

Good God, I must be getting “old”.

Current Mood: Cool

I’m probably gonna open a can of worms with this one, so let them slither out freely.

I don’t care what other parents choose to do, but I personally would never sleep with my kids, and I have very solid reasons for my choice to not do so.

I used to be part of this mom/baby group after Julie was born- a whole group of women who were on the more “natural” side of things. Drug-free birthing, breastfeeding, baby wearing, co-sleeping, attachment parenting, infant potty-training, cloth diapering, baby-food making… you get the picture. Despite the fact that I would certainly be classified as more of a “natural mommy” with my homebirth, breastfeeding, cloth diapering, and so forth, I got a lot of weird looks from the other moms.

When they were all whining about how their babies had never slept through the night, I was baffled. Julie slept through the night starting at four weeks old. She put herself back to sleep when she woke up. It wasn’t a big deal. That’s when one other mom and I both opened our mouths and said our babies slept through the night no problem. Guess what? We were the only moms in the room full of probably 20 other women whose babies slept in their own room.

Well, we really received a lot of scrutiny about our choice to NOT sleep with our babies. Enough that I felt bad, like maybe a “good” parent would indeed co-sleep. So I tried sleeping with Julie in the early mornings. Nope, that didn’t work. I tried napping with her… again, that certainly didn’t work. I simply couldn’t sleep with a squirmy newborn in the bed with me.

Fuck the argument that it’s unsafe and the horror stories about infants dying in their parents’ bed, or the fear that it causes ultra-dependent patterns in children. There is plenty of supporting evidence on both sides of the fight, and that’s not what my decision was about in the least.

I’m an extremely light sleeper, and I struggled with mania in the post-partum months so badly that being anywhere near my kid while I was supposed to be sleeping caused extreme anxiety. Could I hear her breathing? Did that grunt mean she was hungry again? My boobs constantly filled up and tried to explode every time I even thought of breastfeeding, so having my baby near me did nothing positive at night.

I didn’t sleep with April, either. Again, another through-the-night sleeper.

Was it my choice to not co-sleep that made my kids good sleepers? Possibly not, but from what I’ve seen… it seemed to play a role. The times I slept in the same room with them due to hotel situations, etc… they didn’t sleep as soundly, woke up frequently, and I found myself responding to them rather than allowing them to put themselves back to sleep. It seemed to take away a bit of independence that I personally felt was healthy for them- the self-soothing seemed to be an important lesson, and they seemed perfectly comfortable doing it.

In addition to my shitty sleeping patterns, I also chose not to co-sleep for other reasons. My marital bed is a place for James and I to be intimate, to spend alone-time with each other, and to escape from the daily grind. Introducing a baby to the mix gives it an entirely different feel. Perhaps we’re extremely selfish, but we weren’t willing to change EVERYTHING in our lives to accommodate our growing family- our bed being one of those things. Dance being another. It seemed like a disservice for us to include our babies into absolutely every aspect of our lives and have our focus be 100% on them. After all, even with kids we are still our own unique people with our own needs. Our relationship doesn’t revolve around our kids- it’s a separate entity that affects our kids depending on the state in which it’s in.

Recently, my girls’ babysitter was telling me about how she babysat for a couple a few weeks ago that were so dependent on attachment parenting that they hadn’t been apart once from their baby in the several month that’d been on this earth. Before leaving for their date, the mom insisted on laying with her son until he was fast asleep, and they finally left for their evening out 1.5 hours after the babysitter arrived. They gave her strict orders to call them at once if the baby awoke. Naturally, half an hour after they left, the baby woke up. The babysitter picked up the baby, soothed him for a minute, sang him a song, laid him back down, and he fell fast asleep. The whole ordeal was over in just a few minutes. When the parents came back hours later and found out that he’d woken up, they were a bit irritated with the babysitter and said, “We told you to call us if he woke up!”. Seriously? For real? I’m gonna be a judgmental asshole for a second and say I think that’s going a bit overboard. Sure, each to their own, but there are a few cases where the choices people make just seem downright strange. There’s a point where one’s head is stuck so far up their kid’s ass that they need to remember that they are a separate person.

Was my choice perfect for all parents? Absolutely not. I’m not a fan of the philosophy that “one size fits all” in any situation, especially when it comes down to parenting choices. It pisses me off when other parents try to argue my choice to not co-sleep, or look down on me because I only breastfed for *gasp* one year per kid. Quite frankly, it’s a damn shallow way of looking at the world.

Current Mood: Cool