To be honest with you, I don't rant about much. Let me take that back, I don't RANT about much that involves my personal views on the following: politics, religion, child rearing and places that serve food. It's just not in my nature to stir the pot. However, today as you tune in, I am going to rant a little. Please understand as you read that the following views are explicitly mine; I am not looking for a debate. I am simply one single pregnant woman who is writing to you from the heart, surrounded by fun-sized candy wrappers and squeezed into non-maternity leggings so tightly that if I should perhaps sneeze, my pants will literally be blown clean off. Here goes.
Birth. You get pregnant and inevitably that growing baby has GOT to come out (I hope that didn't come as a surprise to anyone who might be expecting). I'm not a woman who likes to hold in my feelings or racing thoughts so I will express that the whole process to me is still mildly horrifying. I agree with many women that say birth is beautiful because it is. Along with conceiving a baby and carrying it, it is one of the most profound acts that the body performs. However, it is still terrifying, it is gross and it is painful; I don't care who you are, there is no way around it. Birth to me is the equivalent of trying to fit a hotdog through the eye of a needle, except that when it comes to the literal act, that hotdog really does come out. Jesus.
Now, before you get all huffy about me calling birth "gross", understand that I do believe when it's over, it's over. I've never had a baby before, so it's understandable that right now as I get closer and closer to my due date, I have my share of worries and fears and nightmares about it all. The hope that I hold onto ultimately comes down to when I hold Hendrick in my arms and fall in love with him more powerfully than I could ever imagine. Until then, let's discuss labor and delivery.
Natural un-medicated child birth, that's what I'm talking about folks. This is the route that I am choosing to take. If you want it all, technically I will be delivering naturally in a hospital setting. So what does this mean? It means a lot of different things, because the same basic principal is there, but all women have different birthing "plans" (I say plans loosely, because we all know, this is one time where plans can most definitely change). For me, natural means exactly what the word implies: as God Himself or nature or science or whoever intended. Whatever you believe in. It means NO drugs to aid me in labor, to numb or dull pain or to cause my labor to progress faster than what my body is ready to do on its own. It means I am given the freedom to move about as I labor, allowing me to attempt different positions to help with pain management.
It means I have a say in the delivery of my baby whom I will have carried for 40+ weeks (assuming he stops trying to physically beat his way out of me sooner than planned). I have felt every kick, every twinge, every growing pain. I have watched my body change physically, my heart magnify and my plans change. I have had a blessed pregnancy in SO many ways, but I still get tired, I still lose my ever-loving mind hormonally and my hips feel like I've been riding a camel for the past 6 weeks. I have worried and laughed and cried and had a million daydreams about him; it only makes sense that I would want to be very involved in how he comes out of his nest...which happens to be via my vagina. Thank you very much, folks, I'll be here all day.
I never knew until I got pregnant that I had a choice in how labor might play out for me. I never knew there were options other than the traditional going-to-the-hospital-checking-in-epidural-now-push routine. And not that there's ANYTHING wrong with that. From my heart it just felt like that particular method would make me personally feel disconnected from the whole process. I just assumed someone would tell me what to do and I would do it. Then I started researching and talking to other moms, reading blogs and birthing stories and understanding that there WERE options.
So, you're still wondering why I'm writing this, and maybe why I'm explaining to you my whole thought development. Firstly, I encourage any mother to examine thoroughly her opportunities; we keep ourselves so well informed about what is in our food, our cosmetics, what the ratings are in the cars we are driving so why would we neglect to research what happens to our bodies? We glorify natural foods, natural beauty, organic and healthy selections for our family; why is it that natural birth is such a taboo subject in our world? Secondly, I've gotten a lot of flack from strangers, nurses and even friends. I think birth is a very intimate thing, but it is unavoidable that you will be asked how you plan to deliver, and I don't think responding with a snarky "FROM MY HOO-HA" helps anything.
I want to do this because it is what feels right for me. Maybe I am crazy for "wanting" to feel the pain, but it extends so much further than that. And let me tell you, the next person that tells me I am trendy for wanting to deliver naturally may get a swift neck punch (unless you are a man, in that case, cover your testicles). I barely brush my hair and I am the biggest wimp, so the last thing I want to do to be trendy is endure great pain. When being a hipster starts meaning that you lay in the road and let your friend run over your legs as many times as you can stand, I guarantee trend will go right out the blasted window.
As I have lost my temper once with someone, I will explain to you my reader the same thing "Laura Fucking Ingalls Wilder gave birth naturally. So I can, too". It's become a joke reference now whenever I am questioned about my choices.
I will end this by simply saying, it is my body. I am supported and loved by my family and amazing boyfriend who has never once questioned my decision. The last thing ANY woman wants to hear after she gives birth is "I told you so" if for some reason she did not get to deliver as she hoped. Realistically, there are complications that could arise, but it is my hope and prayer that Hendrick arrives safely--ultimately that is what is important.
With that being said, every day now is a new chapter, the most recent ones being titled "Will I Fit Into My Car Today?" and "Seriously No Do Not Kick Me In My Ribs" and my favorite "Every Shirt Has Become A Half Shirt, No Really, Even The Maternity Ones".
Written with much love from me and my approximately 5-pound Crawdad (Lord forgive me, my child's own nickname just made me hungry for a lobster dipped in butter).
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Just Call Me Marshmallow
I couldn't stand Valentine's week unless I wrote a little something-something about the "holiday" like I did last year. I promise this time around to be a little more gentle, and maybe even slightly sentimental for you demented romantics out there. Oh, side note: I'm also going to talk about my cervix because as you all know by now, I'm pregnant. You're welcome.
I don't want to start off on the wrong foot, so let me state clearly that I still don't get Valentine's Day. I may not be as hardened to it as I have in the past, but I still don't understand the tradition. I have, however, come to the conclusion that St.Valentine was a woman--a pregnant woman. It's true. I've never in my life been so enthralled with holidays until I got knocked up, and let me tell you, V-Day has officially swooped in and taken the award for best selection of sugared-up, high calorie, chocolate-laden marshmallow-fluffy-shit HEAVEN. I mean, okay, not every single pregnant woman goes through some insane sugar addiction where she literally envisions herself swaddled in a blanket of caramel and licorice, rolling around in a giant bowl of hot fudge...but I did (am...still going through?). I chalk it up to the fact that before baby-brewing, I didn't have much of a sweet tooth and apparently your body can crave things it doesn't normally along with some really bizarre stuff (I am that lady that put vinegar on a hotdog in the first trimester). Also, a nod of recognition to my baby daddy who has forever had a particular love for sweets and then infected me with his sugar-coated sperm.
Whatever it is, pregnancy makes us go waddling bonkers over certain things. I can't even go in a grocery store without finding myself staring in awe at the selection of Valentine's goodies. The last time I went in Safeway by myself, I found myself stopping not once, not twice, but three times by the display in back by the eggs that was full of chocolate brownies and other creme-filled goodies, all V-Day themed (oh sweet Lord, you know what I mean...the brownies with the red candy topping and little chocolate bits). I don't have any clue as to how long I stood there, but it must have been a good five minutes of internal debating when I realized I was blocking the milk coolers and a little old man was trying to get by me. Bless his heart, he must have been standing there watching the whole time what appeared to be a very deranged pregnant woman, rubbing her belly maniacally and obviously having a mental breakdown over Little Debbie snacks. I grabbed a pack and ran to check out.
With that said, I have seen the light. Regardless of being in love, I get it now: Valentine Schmalentine's Day is about candy. It's a holiday for women everywhere who pee at least 7 times a night, stare at their color-changing nipples in horror, and listen to the doctor confirm that yes, indeed, your cervix does get as big as a soccer ball (I like to challenge my doctor with random facts I find online). Praise you, St.Valentine!
I don't want to leave you hanging with ONLY Valentine's facts about me, so here goes. Cupid is a symbol of Valentine's Day. Cupid was associated with Valentine's Day because he was the son of Venus, the Roman god of love and beauty. The oldest surviving love poem till date is written in a clay tablet from the times of the Sumerians, inventors of writing, around 3500 B.C. Girls of medieval times ate bizarre foods on St. Valentine's Day to make them dream of their future spouse. Every year around 1 billion Valentine cards are sent across. After Christmas it's a single largest seasonal card-sending occasion. AND my personal favorite that I dug up this year: In Korea, if you do not receive any gift on Valentine's day then all the singles go to Korean restaurants and eat black noodles to mourn their single status.
Before you find yourself heading to the nearest restaurant to stick your miserable head in a bowl of black noodles in hopes that you will drown, listen to this. Regardless of your relationship status or your views on love and whimsy and courtship, know that February 14th is still just another day. I'll always have your back on that. I still firmly believe that we should be showing the ones we love and admire daily that we do so. And, if you love getting teddy bears and balloon-o-grams and roses, hell, live it up.
I personally look forward to it this year, and not just for the candy. I've got two very special Valentines: one who helps rescue me from the bathtub when I get stuck (happens) and let's me watch Toddlers and Tiaras for hours on Netflix, and another who is rapidly growing inside of me.
Cheers to us, Cupid. Here's to neither one of us wearing pants this season.
I don't want to start off on the wrong foot, so let me state clearly that I still don't get Valentine's Day. I may not be as hardened to it as I have in the past, but I still don't understand the tradition. I have, however, come to the conclusion that St.Valentine was a woman--a pregnant woman. It's true. I've never in my life been so enthralled with holidays until I got knocked up, and let me tell you, V-Day has officially swooped in and taken the award for best selection of sugared-up, high calorie, chocolate-laden marshmallow-fluffy-shit HEAVEN. I mean, okay, not every single pregnant woman goes through some insane sugar addiction where she literally envisions herself swaddled in a blanket of caramel and licorice, rolling around in a giant bowl of hot fudge...but I did (am...still going through?). I chalk it up to the fact that before baby-brewing, I didn't have much of a sweet tooth and apparently your body can crave things it doesn't normally along with some really bizarre stuff (I am that lady that put vinegar on a hotdog in the first trimester). Also, a nod of recognition to my baby daddy who has forever had a particular love for sweets and then infected me with his sugar-coated sperm.
Whatever it is, pregnancy makes us go waddling bonkers over certain things. I can't even go in a grocery store without finding myself staring in awe at the selection of Valentine's goodies. The last time I went in Safeway by myself, I found myself stopping not once, not twice, but three times by the display in back by the eggs that was full of chocolate brownies and other creme-filled goodies, all V-Day themed (oh sweet Lord, you know what I mean...the brownies with the red candy topping and little chocolate bits). I don't have any clue as to how long I stood there, but it must have been a good five minutes of internal debating when I realized I was blocking the milk coolers and a little old man was trying to get by me. Bless his heart, he must have been standing there watching the whole time what appeared to be a very deranged pregnant woman, rubbing her belly maniacally and obviously having a mental breakdown over Little Debbie snacks. I grabbed a pack and ran to check out.
With that said, I have seen the light. Regardless of being in love, I get it now: Valentine Schmalentine's Day is about candy. It's a holiday for women everywhere who pee at least 7 times a night, stare at their color-changing nipples in horror, and listen to the doctor confirm that yes, indeed, your cervix does get as big as a soccer ball (I like to challenge my doctor with random facts I find online). Praise you, St.Valentine!
I don't want to leave you hanging with ONLY Valentine's facts about me, so here goes. Cupid is a symbol of Valentine's Day. Cupid was associated with Valentine's Day because he was the son of Venus, the Roman god of love and beauty. The oldest surviving love poem till date is written in a clay tablet from the times of the Sumerians, inventors of writing, around 3500 B.C. Girls of medieval times ate bizarre foods on St. Valentine's Day to make them dream of their future spouse. Every year around 1 billion Valentine cards are sent across. After Christmas it's a single largest seasonal card-sending occasion. AND my personal favorite that I dug up this year: In Korea, if you do not receive any gift on Valentine's day then all the singles go to Korean restaurants and eat black noodles to mourn their single status.
Before you find yourself heading to the nearest restaurant to stick your miserable head in a bowl of black noodles in hopes that you will drown, listen to this. Regardless of your relationship status or your views on love and whimsy and courtship, know that February 14th is still just another day. I'll always have your back on that. I still firmly believe that we should be showing the ones we love and admire daily that we do so. And, if you love getting teddy bears and balloon-o-grams and roses, hell, live it up.
I personally look forward to it this year, and not just for the candy. I've got two very special Valentines: one who helps rescue me from the bathtub when I get stuck (happens) and let's me watch Toddlers and Tiaras for hours on Netflix, and another who is rapidly growing inside of me.
Cheers to us, Cupid. Here's to neither one of us wearing pants this season.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)