46

May 6, 11:45 PM (I think) my water breaks. Could this be? Is this baby finally coming?

Yes…but I had a long way to go. Unlike my mother with her lightening quick labors, my body would not progress and my little man sat like a determined plug in my uterus, head tilted to the side and hands lodged up by his neck in the adorable way he still likes to sleep.

This isn’t another gory tale of childbirth. We all know what happens. My hubs said it best when he compared the sights and smells to gutting a deer.

Anyway, my son is here, and he’s the coolest person I’ve ever met. I keep remembering what my doc said: “Babies are weird.” Not a very professional assessment but totally accurate. This child is weird in the most wonderful ways.

But I’m not going to talk about that either. Every mother thinks their kid is “the shit” so there’s no reason for me to convince you. My kid IS the shit. So is yours.

My son Graham came almost a full week past his due date. Nothing about pregnancy or labor was as I thought it would be. Nothing went as I planned. If I learned anything from the experience, it’s that sometimes you just have to give up control and endure. Grip them handlebars and push.

Here’s what else 46 hours of labor taught me.

Hour 3: It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.

I thought I’d be afraid. I dreaded going through labor up until I was actually pregnant. Now I’m not scared, just excited to finally meet him. I’m ready to start the next chapter.

Hour 15: Doctors aren’t always right—and you can tell them so.

I have a voice. And I’m using it. Having read about the dangers of Cytotec, a medication commonly used in labor induction though it is designed for stomach ulcers (and not approved for pregnancy; midwife Ina May Gaskin in her book Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth actually calls the side effects catastrophic), I staunchly refuse it. The longer I fail to dilate, the harder they push the deadly drug. From my hospital bed, needles in my hand, things drip, drip, dripping into my body, I don’t have much control, but I can and will stand up for myself and my baby. I won’t give in to the pressure. I won’t take that little white pill that kills, no matter how many times I have to scream it.

Hour 22: It’s OK to ask for help, because DRUGS.

I thought epidurals were for weak women. “Natural Childbirth All-the-Way” was my rally. After facing a second sleepless night with near constant contractions courtesy of a Pitocin drip, I’m bawling my eyes out begging for a needle in my back. It’s true the epidural will prevent me from laboring in any of the positions I promised myself I would try, but it WILL make it possible to sleep for a few minutes and hold on a little longer. “Look at me, hold still. Almost done.” Aaaaaaah. There it is. I fucking love epidurals. Epidurals for everyone!

Hour 30: I was wrong. It’s worse than I thought it would be. So. Much. Worse.

I should’ve listened to my gut. They told me to come in as soon as my water broke, and I was so excited to finally be in labor that I didn’t hesitate. Now I’m stuck here when I could’ve been at home letting labor proceed naturally. Because my body isn’t ready, it’s Pitocin, Pitocin, Pitocin. “We’d really like you to take the Cytotec, but since you won’t—you guessed it—here’s even MORE Pitocin.” If I had listened to my instincts and stayed home a while, I wouldn’t have woken up on day two in total agony, pressing the call button every few hours for more shots of the sweet juice that gets pumped through the epidural into my back. The anesthesiologist has come down so many times, he probably thinks I’m a junkie. He sure doesn’t seem impressed. Am I just really weak compared to other women? I don’t care what he thinks as long as he brings the good stuff. Hit me up, Doc. I’m dying here.

Hour 35: Hell.

I really am dying here. Or, at least, that’s what it feels like. No time for lessons, just pain and fluids. I’m covered in liquids that I can’t even name. I wonder how long before they force a C-Section.

Hour 44: Men, sit your asses down.

Women—WOW. We are amazing. Only I don’t feel amazing. My husband is shell-shocked, but hanging in there. I’ve been pushing for an hour. I want to die. I can’t believe women have been doing this—without drugs—since the dawn of man. I thought people blacked out when the pain was too severe to handle. How much longer before that happens to me? There’s no way I can finish…Anyone who claims we are the weaker sex obviously never had to do this. Women are more powerful than men will ever know. It’s only a matter of time before we take over the fucking world.

Hour 45: Hallelujah!

Love at first sight is real—even when they look like an alien. My son is here. He’s really here. He has giant eyes that struggle to take in the world. I thought he’d never make it. I hope I never forget the look on his wrinkly face when they set him on my chest for the first time.

Hour 45.5: I am a Force.

I am stronger than I ever thought possible. Exhausted, wobbly, and covered in aftermath, but strong. My body is more than capable. If I can do this, all of this, I can do anything.

Hour 46: I was wrong again.

There is no separation between being a woman and being a mother. I thought I had to protect the woman so the mother didn’t swallow me whole. I didn’t want to get lost in my son. Now I see that because of him, I am a better, stronger, fiercer woman. Because of a perfect 7 pound, 4 ounce man, I am more. Why didn’t anyone tell me this before? I never thought I’d say this, but I am meant to be a mother.

His.