Birth "Wisdom:" To Stay in Control, Relinquish It

--Oh, and ignore all "wisdom" or "advice" because everyone is different--

Four years ago today, I was one day away from giving birth to my second child. I was surprisingly calm even though my first experience was rather traumatic.

Yes, I was one of those Type-A pregnant folks who thought that as long as I studied hard about the whole birth process, practiced my breathing, and read those horrible "pregnancy is so easy if you are vigilant!" books that I'd be fine.

But, as I've said many times, no matter the amount of preparation, number of birth classes, parenting books read, or your earnest nature to really "get it right," you won't. For my first child, I definitely didn't get it right. In fact, my son was born via vacuum because of "maternal exhaustion," also classified as a "failure to progress." Yes, I was exhausted and apparently failing.  My first official job as a mother (aside from taking those nasty vitamins and forgoing my beloved wine) and I was failing?

Well, my oldest is here, alive, so I didn't "fail" completely; however, every time we do IEP paperwork or other psychology or medical-related forms, I must rehash the whole birth story. Medical professionals nod as they note "birth trauma:" Aha! So maybe his autism is because of birth-related brain damage! (I don't think so, but to have a doctor imply as much is hurtful.) Even when getting care for my younger son, they ask about "unusual" or "assisted" births in previous children. Usually moms like to tell their stories, but my oldest son's story has become a reminder of difficult times and an inadequacy on my part.

After the exhausting birth, he was carted off to a continuing-care nursery and pumped full of antibiotics. I didn't get to nurse him until well after he was born. That first night was difficult: I felt alone and unconnected to my new son. Not surprisingly the hurt took awhile to heal.

But four years ago, I fought back.

When the contractions came, I rode them. Instead of telling myself, "I must breathe properly," I just allowed myself to get in a zone. No counting, no staring at the clock, no meticulous note-taking about when a contraction started and stopped. Instead of paying attention in the name of doing everything "right," I just let things happen. By the morning of July 2nd, I knew I was in active labor even though I hadn't yet recorded any of those times on a list that the hospital would want.

I phoned labor and delivery anyway.

The nurses emphasized how they wanted the mom-in-labor to phone rather than the partner since they wanted to hear the pain and agony in her voice to "prove" that she was really in labor.

Well, I laughed. I brightly told them my contractions were around 2-4 minutes apart, lasting about a minute,  but that I hadn't recorded them because I was trying to focus on other things. "Last time I had irregular contractions during active labor," I explained, adding, "I'm laughing because I am in a zone and want to just ride this out."

Fortunately, the nurse laughed back, "Great! Come on down!" and we did.

I was nervous in the triage room because a mom next to me was yelping in pain, yet only a centimeter dilated, so sent back home (as I was during my first son's birth.) By this point, I was in a great deal of pain, but trying to place my thoughts anywhere except monitoring contractions. Thankfully, the nurse laughed at my printout, confirming, "You've got quite a nasty pattern here, huh?" as she told us she'd get a room shortly.

Although we ended up in an odd "overflow" room, pretty much everything went smoothly. I welcomed family into my room, whereas for my eldest's birth I was ashamed to be seen in such a vulnerable position. I laughed off talk of "cervical lips" and "it might be a c-section," and "we're going down the hall to get the vacuum."

NO!

No vacuum.

I pushed him out myself.

I was more in control with my second child's birth because I relinquished the need for control.

Instead of trying to course-correct, I allowed things to happen naturally. I didn't clench up with the pain but instead thought of anything else. I really do question the efficacy of those breathing techniques and other activities whose purpose involves monitoring one's body because I found that releasing one's body was so much more effective for me.

I got to nurse him right away, and he remained with me during our whole hospital stay.

When a lactation "consultant" later tried to condescendingly critique my technique (even though I hadn't called for such "consultation",) I didn't care because I was confident in my abilities. Had this woman insulted me after my first son's birth, I would have been devastated.

But I remembered how humiliated I had been during my first child's birth, yet how I survived, so I knew everything would eventually be okay with the second child. New mothers can be vulnerable, but we aren't weak. The process is demanding, but anyone would feel exhausted. I wish medical professionals wouldn't take advantage of that vulnerability and instead respect the strength that goes into becoming a mother.

Despite the differences in their births, both my sons are very similar in their high-energy personalities and intelligent insights. And, of course, both of them have given me both pride and heart-attacks! Still, it is interesting that my older son is scared about new situations just as I was scared surrounding his birth; but my second son jumps right into the process, which is essentially what I did to bring him into the world four years ago.

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Original Silicon Valley Moms Blog post, Kari also writes at The Karianna Spectrum.