xmas two thousand ten

december 24th, 2010 - 10:00 AM

i've just peed on a plastic stick. on the surface, this doesn't seem very representative or meaningful. deep down, this little plastic stick with my urine on it is about to change my life. instantaneously, those two little pink lines appear. i haven't even wiped yet. something must be wrong. after having stood in front of the pregnancy test aisle for about 15 minutes in utter confusion, yann had finally just grabbed the cheapest one. i don't trust it and its result. i'm skeptic. we've been dating for barely 2 months, do i even want this? what do i want? i had had the test, still in its wrapper, on my dresser for 3 days now. unable to face the reality. my breasts were tender, painful. something inside of me already knew...  yet, my head can't wrap itself around those telltale pink lines. we leave it at that. we're having about 15 of our friends over for christmas eve tonight. our first christmas together. we have errands to run - i take the opportunity to stop by the pharmacy. i choose the fanciest test there is. if there was one that could speak, i'm pretty sure i would of chosen that one.

home we go and decide to have a little lunch before launching in the preparation of our christmas eve party hosting endeavour. i can't take the suspense any longer - while yann finishes fixing lunch, i quietly slip in the bathroom, have a little stick pee, rince it and leave it on the counter. i sit down to a pipping hot bowl of soup and tell yann, "if you want to know if you're going to be a father, the answer is on the counter in the bathroom." we're both just sitting there smiling. he's nervous, i can tell. he gets up, goes in the bathroom for what seems like an eternity (i think it was actually about 2.3 seconds) and out he comes with the stick and an even bigger smile. he doesn't say anything but he doesn't need to. we're happy but we can't seem to find the proper words to communicate it. we finish our lunch and start on the prep for the evening - we just make food, listen to music and both seem too stunned to even talk about it. sooner than we had anticipated, people begin arriving. we've settled on not telling anyone. we're both still so much in shock that we're unable to share the news. in order to do so, things must seem normal - i allow myself one last night of debauchery. i drink. i smoke. i toke. i do it all. i'm nervous and can't get this child off my brain yet it hasn't sunk it enough that i feel bad downing jäger shots still at 5:00 AM.

on the phone with côte des neiges

the next morning is a new day for a us. a new life. yann swears to not drink for the next 9 months - i'm not sure if it's because of the pregnancy or the horrible hangover he has but atleast i have someone to accompany me. we were partners in vice, now we're partners in sobriety (and i can assure you, it wasn't easy). we spend the next few days hiding from everyone. we don't quite know how to put into words what's going on in our lives and above all - we're not even sure what the next step is. the holidays are making it even more complicated for us. the one thing i do know is this: i'm way too afraid of hospitals to give birth there. on january 7th, 2011 we finally call the closest birth home center - côte des neiges. the lady on the other end of the line is rude - what a great start - and seems to be annoyed that yann has called and not me. she says they'll call us back when i get a place. (funny fact: to this day, they still haven't called back.) not feeling confident at all, we begin looking for an alternative. we do what everyone does and call the nearest medical clinic and set up an appointment with a doctor. meanwhile, all i know is that i don't want to give birth with him. i haven't even met him but i know i want nothing to do with a man near me during birth if it isn't yann. call me sexist, i don't care. i just don't see how a man (that isn't my fiancé or my father) can be understanding/useful in a time like this. you wouldn't ask a man for tampon advice, would you?


meanwhile, yann manages to get a hold of a friend of his in france. his wife gave birth to their 4 children at home. maybe they can help us. oddly enough, his midwife knows a girl here in québec whose dabbled in midwifery. we've yet to meet with the doctor (let's call him... Dr. Evil) but we meet with her anyway (let's call her... Little Miss Sunshine). she's spunky and welcomes us into her home as though we've known each other for years. she talks about home birth so passionately that i suddenyl can't imagine myself doing it any other way. since she herself isn't a midwife, she gives us the number of another woman. between classes, i give her a call. she seems nice but informs me right away, based on my "due date", that she might not be available but gives me the number of one of her colleagues. i'm positive but this is starting to be a little ridiculous. we begun this journey in france, made it to québec and we're just bouncing from one person to the next. meanwhile, i still have a month before my appointement with Dr. E. i call what i hope is the last person in this game of "find a midwife". the second i hear Her voice on the line, i know i'm done looking. She's warm and kind, patient and caring. i can just sense it in Her voice that She is the type of person that wakes up with a smile on Her face. we set up a meeting that falls right after my first meeting with Dr. E - which just so happens to be on february 14th. how fitting...

february 9th, 2011 - 8:50 AM

i never, ever check my voicemail. for some reason, that morning i feel the need to. i'm still laying in bed when i punch in my password and hear this message: "hi, i'm so and so from Dr. E's clinic and we're calling to inform you that your appointment has been pushed forward to February 9th at 9:00 AM". i check the date. i check the time. and freaking out ensues. i call the secretary asking how this could be given that i never called to confirm. she's, once again, very rude and tells me that i'm going to miss my appointment. (i hadn't realized we were playing "state the obvious" but clearly, she wins.) i ask her if there is any chance under the sun that i can come now and possibly see the doctor anyway, that i've been waiting a month for this. she says that i just need to be here before noon and they'll figure something out. i do something that ressembles showering, pack a light snack (my buddy, nausea, has already begun tagging along) and we run to the metro.

it's barely 10:00 AM and we've made it. i present myself, out of breath and tousled, at the front desk. the second i hand her my medicare card, i just know she recognizes me. she sticks us on two chairs in the hall, the waiting room is full. babies crying, people coughing, brown carpeting... everything to make you feel right at home. we wait. and wait. and wait. i pee. and puke. and pee. yann does his best to keep his calm. she finally calls me over to her desk. asks me to take my shoes off and get on the scale. i'm confused. is she the doctor? will i be examined here, in the waiting room?! i'm overwhelmed and yann is still sitting out in the hallway a.k.a our own personal waiting room. i begin to panick. her rudeness isn't helping. she asks me to fill out papers. i ask her one question to which she bites back. over the radio, in the background, i hear the song that was played at my cousin's funeral. i break down. i can't hold it in any longer. i just start bawling, right there, shoes off, in the waiting room, in front of a bunch of strangers. you'd think she'd lighten up but instead just asks me if i'm done. i look up at her, eyes full of tears, and tell her that i don't deserve to be treated like this. that i'm human, too. that if she's having a bad day, it isn't my fault and that my child doesn't deserve to have its first contact with its parents like this. she's so stunned, she doesn't even know what to say. she turns around and grabs a box of tissues and asks me if she can help me with finishing up the form. things are looking up, i start to feel a little more hopeful that this won't be a horrible exprience after all. i go back to my chair and resume back to waiting.

about 3 hours after our arrival, we finally get to see the doctor... or so we think. my newfound friend from the front desk comes to get us. she leads us in a small, cold examination room and instructs me to "take off my pants and sit on the table." i do just that. before she leaves, she closes the curtain which leaves me sitting, alone on a cold table, ass hanging out, with yann awkwardly sitting on the other side. we speak to each other like it's one of those 70's dating shows - we don't know if he's even allowed on the other side of the curtin. finally, 15 long minutes later, Dr. E walks in looking like a character straight out of star trek. one glance and i just know with certainty, this is the first and last time he'll ever get his huge man hands near my vagina. he walks by yann like he's just a picture on the wall. he looks over the forms i filled out an hour or so ago... in silence. it's so awkward. i manage to peep out the side of the curtain to yann. seeing his face settles me but i just wish he could be standing next to me. Dr. E finally graces me with his presence on my side of the curtain. he tells me to "lay down on my back, put my ass as close to the edge of the table and feet up in this horrible cold, metallic stir-ups" (clearly not with those words but it's my story here...). without warning, he jams another cold, metallic apparatus up my lady part. what up?! thanks for the warning, Dr. Asshole. he looks up over the blue sheet and tells me i need to relax. "oh sorry, bro. relax? yes, given this feels like rape, let me just relax here." is all i can think of. i just politely smile and tell him i'm doing my best.

he puts away his instrument of torture and takes out the doppler. again without warning, he plops down a dollop of cold-ass gel on my stomach and begins looking for the baby's heartbeat. (in retrospect, i wish he would of told us, i wish he would of invited yann to come over and listen, too.) forcing his way around my stomach with his little machine, he asks me if i can hear it? "hear what?!" is what i blurt out. i have no clue what's going on - mind you, i'm nervous and this is my first pregnancy. "your baby's heartbeat!" he retorts back as though i'm mentally challeneged. gee golly, Doc, don't be too nice either! when i finally hear what i'm supposed to be hearing, i mutter a quiet "yes" - i'm so touched to finally hear the confirmation of the baby's presence. he keeps the doppler on me a total of about 7 seconds. he carefully wipes his doppler and hands me one piece of brown paper to wipe myself down and just leaves me there. as he sits behind is desk, i realize this is my cue to get dressed... i take a seat next to yann. silence. the doctor starts asking questions - he seems put off by everything we say. the cherry on top comes when we mention that we are looking into a home birth. he literally drops his pen, takes off his glasses and tells us that we "need to make up our minds now because we're taking up someone's place and wasting his time". in that instant, i know that i would prefer giving birth in a dumpster full of rats than having to deal with this horrible example of a human being ever again.

on our way to the clinic...

we leave the clinic mad, disappointed and a little in shock. we try and figure out what just happened - it all seems so surreal. how can someone be so cold with expecting parents? with anyone, really?! i'm pretty sure i've had better, warmer, kinder service at canadian tire... our only hope is in waiting for our meeting with Her. i can't remember the date, it doesn't really matter but soon after we meet with what would soon become our midwife. She comes to our house for our first meeting - She tells us it should only take about 30 minutes to an hour, just so we can get aquainted and see if we click as a team. She walks in, hugs and kisses us... aaaand i'm already sold. 3 hours later, we've talked about everything under the sun - life, animals, career, birth, tattoos, food, family, photography... it just clicks. we're so overwhelmed with emotion to have found the one that we set up another meeting right away. our mind is set: we will go back to Dr. E to have one echo (we're both still a little stunned and overcome by emotions that we need visual confirmation) and then be done with him. our hope, our plan is to have the follow up done by Her. i trust in Her, i trust in my body, i trust in my baby and i trust in yann... together we embark on the journey of home birth and that is where it all began, on december 24th with a stick full of pee...


to be continued...

"e's birth - part 3" or "breastfeeding, best feeding"

september 2, 2011. 11:00 AM

i've just experienced the most amazing thing in the world. i've given birth barely a half hour ago... i gently place my daughter to my breast. i hope for the best but in the back of my mind i just know it'll work. why wouldn't it? what could go wrong? as she latches on for the first time, i feel just about the worst pain - mind you, i have some frame of reference, given i've just expulsed her from my vagina. at this point, giving birth kind of feels like it was the easy part of the ordeal. the pain her suckling is causing is just beyond anything i had ever imagined. it's far from being the magical, amazingly beautiful moment so many moms and books had described. it feels like someone is pulling my nipple from the inside with a pair of plyers and out my rib cage. i'm tired, my entire body hurts. i partly blame the fatigue and overall pain for how our first attempt at breastfeeding turns out. i figure, we have to give each other some time to adapt - find what works best for us. 

the midwife is encouraging and tells me i'm a natural. i just feel like i could die. but i've been waiting too long for this moment to stop. E seems to be enjoying it, taking in as much of the magical elixir as she can. right at the first suckle, i can tell she'll be a good eater. i rest up and wait for the little alarm clock to cry for more - we all sleep for a few hours and then she's back for more. i try and be positive. i hope for the best and plug her for the second time - excrutiating pain. but i suck it up. i figure, i just gave birth to her. i just went through 8 hours of pain - i can do 20 minutes of breastfeeding. 

the third time, the fourth... the twentieth... the hundredth. they're all the same. but i refuse to buy formula. i don't even want it in the house. but the pain just won't go away. i consult my midwife. ask my mom, yann's mom, friends. i pump my milk. i try every feeding position under the sun - sitting, laying down, in the bath, on my side... E gets trush. i get a mastitis. we do the gentian violet and i take antibiotics. nothing seems to be working. it's just painful. it even becomes stressful. i hear her cry and i want to run and hide under the couch. or a rock. meanwhile, i have what seems like a ton of friends telling me how amazingly, magically wonderful breastfeeding is for them. how not painful at all it is. i'm happy for them. i really am. it just sinks me deeper into thinking i'm doing it wrong. into thinking that maybe i should just give up. 

but i didn't give up. i last 5 months like this. some might think i'm crazy. others might understand. some might judge. others might not. bottom line is, after going through 8 hours of push pains, i went through 5 months of horribly, excrutiating pain in order to nurse my daughter. but i was proud. good gracious was i proud of myself given the circumstances and the trouble i had had. i was so happy that i'd been able to find it in me to go so long. i felt accomplished and empowered that i was able to feed my daughter the healthiest possible food in the world for her. 

i'm going to be honest - that feeling is long gone. everytime i shook up a bottle for her after that, the feelings of regret emerged. (we stopped formula when she was about 11 months old - soy milk, cow milk, almond milk was introduced) everytime i went to buy formula, i felt ashamed. everytime i saw a mother breastfeeding her child, i got jealous of her accomplishments. everytime someone asked me how long i breastfed her, i felt like 5 months sounded like 5 minutes. now, part of that might be the pregnancy hormones - part of it is actually how i feel. some of you might feel like i'm being quite hard on myself and maybe i am but my point of view is this: i brought her into this world and i wanted to do everything in my power to do the best for her - even if that meant being in pain for 5 months straight. 

now that i'm pregnant again, i feel like i've been given a second chance at breastfeeding and it's bringing back a lot of memories. if it works, it'll be a small victory for me and might get me one step closer to understanding what went wrong the first time around. 


oddly enough, as much as i find most people perpetuate a negative image of birth, i've found that everyone makes breastfeeding out to be magical. amazing. as though it'll be just the same for everyone. before experiencing it myself, i had never, not once in my life, heard someone say how painful breastfeeding was for them or could potentially be. or how much they didn't even enjoy it. or how their breasts calised and bled. once i started admitting how painful it was for me and telling people how i felt, so many others started sharing their stories and i realized that i was far from being alone - scabs, bloody nipples, infections, gluttonous babies... i realized i wasn't the only one to want to hide under the couch the second i heard my baby crying. or that i wasn't the only one to cringe when her mouth would approach my nipple. funny thing is, as much as i regret it not going longer and as much as it hurt and isn't the best example, i feel the need to share my story. to encourage other mothers nonetheless to breastfeed and persist. to let first-time mothers know that it can be hard but it is worth it. 

having said all this, i want to embark on a tangent in regards to breastfeeding - what some might call "extreme breastfeeding" or what others might consider to be "breastfeeding for a normal amount of time". what i'm talking about is, nursing past 1 year of age. some people seemed to be appalled that some mothers would nurse their toddlers well into their third, fourth or even fifth year of life. frankly, i could care less what other people do and i say, "power to you!" if you can go that long. personal decisions are not up for discussion. i've had so many people ask me what i think of this, half with a look of disgust on their face already letting me know what their stance on the subject was. part of me thinks, "what is it to you?". the other part is in awe of these mothers. 

most notably, in a recent times magazine article (that happened to make the first page and shocked people all around the world) breastfeeding toddlers was adressed and after going around a few forums, some being pro-breastfeeding, i was disgusted by the nature of some of the comments that could be read. some twisted people even seemed to find that there was some sort of sexual connetation to breastfeeding your child that long. most thought it was flat out gross and a select few were totally for this practice - which is a lot more common than we know. the thing is this - these women are all having the last laugh for a multitude of reasons:

-breastfeeding is free. 
-it produces natural anti-bodies for your baby. (a baby's immune system is still only 60% effective at 1 year of age)
-helps with losing the baby weight. (always a plus!)
-all nutrients a child needs are found in breastmilk.
-it increases closeness/bonding with your baby.
-breastfeeding is convenient when out and about.
-it promotes optimal brain development in babies.
-helps reduce breast/ovarian cancer in mothers who breastfeed and helps prevent it in infants that are breastfed.
-super eco-friendly!!!
-less chances of diabetes, obesity, allergies...
-many studies have shown that breastfed babies are less likely to be affected by SIDS.
-breastfeeding releases oxytocin, which can help in preventing baby blues/post-partum depression.
-also reduces the risk of post-partum bleeding.
-breastfeeding is a 98% effective contraceptive method in the first 6 months. 
-more easily digested by baby than formula.
-also protects against asthma, arthritis, Crohn's disease and cavities.
-less diarrhea.
-protect against the growth of harmful bacteria in the digestive system.
-breastmilk is always the perfect temperature.
-breastfed children are liess likely to contract a number of diseases later in life... juvenile diabetes, MS, heart disease, cancer...
-women who lactate for a total of two years or more reduce their chances of developing breast cancer by 24%. 
-the longer you breastfeed, the more beneficial it actually is for your child and for yourself.

really, need i say more? 

yes, it might be hard. i know first hand how difficult it can be. but i also know how important it is and how worthwhile it can be to persist. this post isn't meant to make women who couldn't or didn't breastfeed feel bad. far from it. i'm one of those women. even though i managed 5 months, i still feel i could of done more. better. longer. i'm just grateful i get a second chance...

e's birth - part two

september 2, 2011 - 8:00 AM

the midwife is in and out of the bathroom, where i've offiicially settled into the bath. she's checking the baby's heartbeat with her doppler and asking if she can check how dilated i am - 2 out of 3 times, i don't even answer. i just resume my position on all fours and let the contractions overcome me. she resumes her position of knitting quietly and respectfully on the terrace. she's letting us do our thing - yann is patiently sitting by the bath. what i don't realize is that he's in and out, too. making pot of coffee after pot of coffee and smoking just about a quazillion cigarettes. he even manages to brush his teeth after each one, about a meter away from me, without my even realizing it. i'm in the zone. i don't mind being alone at this point - i know my support system is there.  i can feel them. (also yann mentions afterward that at one point i started fixing my hair, putting bobby pins "back in place" and so he kind of took the cue that i was ok...) the only thing that snaps me out of it, is when he tells me his ass hurts from sitting on the side of the bath tub. i say nothing but in the back of my mind i'm thinking, "excuse me?! your ass hurts?!!" but i just go right back to the contractions. they're pretty close together and quite intense but i take them one at a time. no need to rush things, my body is doing exactly what it needs to be doing.

somewhere between 8:55 AM and 9:25 AM i've reached 10 cm but those numbers mean nothing to me anymore. i've been pushing since 9:00 AM and i didn't need anyone to tell me to do so... or count to 10 and tell me to stop pushing. i didn't feel the need to reach the infamous 10 cm to start pushing. i push when my body tells me so. i push when my baby needs me to. i push because it's the only thing that feels good at this point. it's the only thing that's relieving me of the pain from the contractions. i can feel my baby getting closer and closer, i can feel the top of the head starting to show. it's 9:45 AM. the midwife has gotten a small stool and she's sitting at the far end of the tub. her assistant, whom i remember very calmly greeting stark naked in the halfway an hour so before, is standing in the doorway and taking notes. she asks if she can check the baby's heartbeat. i don't even move, in fact i barely let myself hear her. i don't want to be touched. i don't want to be bothered.

i can't find a proper position anymore. i'm squatting. i'm on all fours. i'm on my knees. i can't seem to find a good grip and it's like i want to push harder than my body is allowing me to. in between urges to push, i sit back down. i'm beginning to become exhausted and i'm not seeing the end of the tunnel. i know the baby's right there but given that time no longer means anything to me, it feels like the baby's been right there for an entire day.  the midwife checks the baby's heartbeat - 120 beats per minute. i'm back on all fours and i push with all my might. i push knowing it'll bring my baby in my arms. she checks the baby's heartbeat again - 80 beats per minute. i can tell by the look on her face and the tone in her voice, she's worried. she does one more reading. at 10:05 AM, the normally very calm, soft-spoken midwife suddenly roughens up and with so much assurance she could of convinced me to eat soap, she tells me, "you need to get out of the bath. now." she rushes into the room to prepare everything - she takes out the oxygen tank, lays down the disposable medical pads on the bed, sets her dopppler on the side of the bed - while i try with all my might to get up and out of the tub. yann tries to help me in vain but my knees buckle under me. i just don't have the strength to move. he repeats those damned instructions, softly in my ear, "chérie, tu dois sortir du bain." and all i can do is look up and give him a look that ressembles an abandonned puppy dog. he takes my hand, pulls me up and reassures me that it's for the best and that in about 7 steps, i'll be in our bed.

it's now 10:14 AM. the midwife quickly explains that the baby's done its fair share, its been engaged for quite some time now (too long, but she doesn't say that) and that i need to give it my all. she tells me that even though this is exactly the opposite of what i wanted, i need to lay down on my back, put my legs up and push. what she doesn't tell us is that the last heart monitor reading she did came up empty. the baby's heartbeat can no longer be heard. she remains calm and keeps giving directions. she instructs yann to take my legs and pull them over my head, putting some pressure on my stomach - think an empty tube of toothpaste that you're trying to squeeze out the last few drops. she reassuringly tells me, "you need to push with everything you've got and don't stop." yann's holding my legs, the assistant is frantically taking notes and trying to take one more reading of the baby's heart while the midwife is gently but firmly helping the baby's head crown. 60 hearts beat per minute. i can feel it. the ring of fire. the baby's head had crowned. she encourages me to push again. it's 10:20 AM and i give up for the second time. i tell them to leave me alone. that i can't do this. the assitant manages to sneak in another heart reading - empty. the midwife instructs yann to pick up my legs again and tells me that i can. that i need to. for my baby. i just lay there. inert. exhausted.

at, 10:22 AM the monitor shows we're back at 60 heart beats per minute. the baby is alive and well, but also very exhausted. 10:24 AM i hear the midwife use a word i'm unfamiliar with: episiotomy. i feel like things are going too fast for my control. a few seconds later, i hear a word i am familiar with: scissors. i realize that they are about to cut me, in order to ease the baby out. something else i don't want. i'm not a believer but some power from above - or was it my baby or the hormones doing their thing? -  give me the strength i need, the strength i thought i no longer thought i had in me, to do what needs to be done. up my legs go, and i just start pushing like my life depends on it - little did i know, my baby's life did depend on it. i push. and push. and push. i barely stop to take my breath. all i know is the assistant now has the scissors in her hands and if i stop pushing long enough, she'll cut. i hear her tell yann, "talk to your baby, tell it to come and meet its parents". i almost burst out laughing. my eyes are closed but i can just imagine yann's dumbfounded face. that's the release i needed. one more push at 10:26 AM and the head is out. sweet deliverance. i take a breather and i know the best is yet to come. one more push and i can finally hold my baby in my arms. i can feel general relief in the room. the midwife tells me to ease the baby out, that its just right there. i push slowly but with intent and out the baby comes... from the midwife's hands to yann's.

september 2, 2011 - 10:28 AM

i've officially become a mother. there it is: my baby. barely any vernix, pink, coneheaded, breathing and as beautiful as they come. perfection, if i can say so myself. i feel like i'm in another world, high as a kite. yann gently places the baby on my abdomen - how fitting to have it lay on its home; to see my empty stomach and the product for those 9 months and 8 days laying on top of it. the midwife notes the time. yann cries. i just take it all in. one moment, one second at a time. i wish i could stretch out the time but the best i can do is observe the scene and soak in every little instant. i think to myself: this is my baby. our baby. i can't really see its face and yet i already know i love it more than life itself. that it is my life. an extension of our love. in that instant it all makes sense. every single moment has had its purpose: the nausea, the back aches, the incessant need to pee, the blocked sciatic nerve, the kicks in the ribs, the tingling, numbing sensation in my fingers, the white dots, the contractions, the pain - it was all part of my journey. each event had its role to play in my preparation for this moment. somewhere between the love i feel for this child and the hormones kicking in, i suddenly forget the 8 hours of pain i just went through. it's all behind me, yet it'll follow me forever. it was all worth it. i look into yann's eyes, and we kiss the longest, most meaningful kiss we've ever shared. everything that means anything to me in this world, in that instant, lays in this bed. the bed where we shared our first kiss. the bed where we first cuddled. the bed where we conceived this child. again, how fitting...

10 minutes have passed - or is it 10 seconds? - and i realize: we still don't know what it is. 9 months and 8 days of wondering. of betting. of arguing. we were so eager to know who was right and frankly, when i finally ask yann to tell me what it is, i don't even care anymore and i can barely remember which sex i was rooting for. "je sais pas" he answers, bends over and keeps crying and hugging us. we just lay there for another 5 minutes - or is it 5 seconds? - and i try bring the baby up higher so i can take a gander myelf. curiosity is getting the best of me, even though, no matter what it is, we already know its name... funny thing is, the umbilical cord is too short. i can't bring the baby any higher. i turn to yann for the second time, ask him to confirm what my heart already knows: it is a she. the most beautiful baby girl i've ever laid my little eyes on. almost 20 minutes have passed, the blood has stopped pumping through the cord and we are finally seperated from each other.  yann picks up the odd looking scissors (gosh, i hope that's not what they were planning on cutting me with?!) and tries in vain to cut the cord. much harder than he had anticipated. everyone kind of laughs and he shyly looks over at the midwife. she explains that he'll have to do better than that... with a shaky hand, more strength and a little help from her father, élie geo david becomes her own person at exactly 10:43 AM.


i'm so excited and nervous to finally meet her face to face. we just lay there together. skin against skin, with yann laying next to us. i appreciate the moment of tenderness we get to share. my instinct is to put her to my breast and try to feed her. i'm so into it, i barely hear the midwife tell me i need to push out the placenta... when the phrase sinks in, all i can mutter is, "will this hurt? cause i don't think i have any more energy left in me..." she assures me that on the contrary, it might actually feel nice. and she was right. the warm, gush of placenta comes out with one push and it just feels so wonderful. at 10:48 AM, i am once again alone in my body. it feels a little lonely but i know that as long as i have her by my side, i'm complete.

e's birth - part one

september 1, 2011 - 1:00 PM

8 days have passed since my "due date". and let me tell you, what a load of baloney that useless piece of information has been. i've waited patiently 9 months and like that isn't enough, i have to keep on waiting. up yours, due date. i swear to never believe a "due date" ever again. it's mid afternoon, yann is off to work, tattooing a buddy from the neighbourhood. he's taken on extra appointments here and there given that this baby ain't ready to meet us yet.  i decide to kick back, relax, take a hot bath and read a little - mind you, it's like 35 degrees outside so i have no clue why a hot bath seemed like a good idea at the time - i guess i thought i could hotbox the baby out.  i don't know but either way, it was a bad idea. i start reading and immediately realize i can't see anything. i can't even read a line without rubbing my eyes. all i see is just little white dots everywhere, like my eyes are tingling. i decide to get out of the sauna i've created asap and lay down. given that the nearest person i can warn is yann (the shop is literally situated 350 m from home) i figure the best thing to do is atleast let him know i'm not feeling well... just in case. as i'm slipping into our bed still dripping wet, i grab my hamburger phone (any juno fans in the house?!) and i call my soon-to-be-partner-in-diaper-rage. as per the movie, the hamburger phone is letting me down connection wise - yann can only hear muffled noises and i cut off morsels of phrases. i hang up, lay down to let the white spots disappear and decide that i would just call him back later - for all i know, this is what the beginning of labour is like...

the next thing i know, in comes a sweaty yann running through the door. panting, he asks me if the baby is coming. surely he must be mocking me - but, nonetheless, i appreciate the sweetness in his gesture. just like juno, i tell him, "sorry, i was on the hamburger phone..." (for those of you who don't own one, it's a nice novelty piece but let's just say that i wouldn't count on it saving me in a life and death 911 situation) "...you can go back to work, everything is ok. i'll be fine." to which he retorts, with a hint of frustration in his voice, "i can't go back to work, i just sent my client home - after having thrown the machine down, telling my colleague to wrap him up while half way out the door." not that i needed more reasons, but this is why i love him so much. anyways, i'm not going to start swooning again... back to business. so, yann's home, i'm feeling much better and i'm out of the hot tub. i get up to get dressed and feel warm liquid trickling down my legs. mind you, at this point, i'm tired, physically and mentally and my first - and only - thought is, "good job, asshole. you just peed yourself." i had always been told that when my water broke, it would feel like niagra falls and that i'd know for sure that's what it was. so, i wash up, put on a pair of panties with a liner and go into the kitchen where yann is fixing lunch. he informs me that he's got a friend coming in from france that night so we might have people over. frankly, we could have a party for all i care - obviously this baby is never coming out so i might as well resume back to my "normal" life.

it's about 4 PM and we decide - dog, belly and panty liner in tow - to make our way to the st-ambroise terrace, just a few blocks from home, for an afternoon with friends and our french visitor - they have beer and i settle on a hot dog with nachos and a ginger ale. that's right. i'm going hog wild, baby! we spend the entire afternoon there, it's so nice outside and i'm feeling perfectly fine and frankly, quite normal - minus the extra 40 some odd pound basketball i'm lugging around. even yann has a few beers - for the second time in the past 9 months and 8 days, he caves and renounces to the vow he made me to not drink at all during the pregnancy. honestly, i didn't care - i'm thinking, "clearly i'm never giving birth so get drunk for the both of us!"  anyway, nightfall comes and we decide to move the booming partay to our place. it's late enough that i'm hungry again (not that i needed an excuse) and my drinking buddies have yet to have supper - classic move when we have visitors in from france: we decide to order pizza and poutine. the concept of calling and having food delivered straight to the door seems to amaze them every single time and well, you can't come to quebec and not try poutine. i mean, come on! so, by the time the doorbell rings, it's 11:30 PM. we chow down the food like our lives depend on it, chat some more and around 12:30 AM we send our tipsy friends home - with a promise to go hiking up mont royal the next day with our little tourist. partly to show him, partly to coax the baby out.

little did we know - we'd never make it to mont royal the next day.

september 2, 2011 - 2:00 AM

it was like a scene straight out of a movie. clutching my belly with two hands, i shot up straight like a bullet. it felt like i was digesting just about the worst spicy food there is out there. i figured there was no way i was going to wake up yann for a weary bowel movement so i get up and haul my gigantic, wobbling self to the bathroom and sit there for a whole 30 minutes cursing my decision to eat that poutine and slice of pizza only a few hours earlier. i sat and sat... and pushed and pushed. and nothing. only increasing pain in my lower abdomen. after 30 minutes, i decided to stop and face reality: i wasn't about to take the biggest dump of my life... i was in labour. still half skeptic, i wake up a confused/hung over yann with a gentle, "the baby's coming." now, i don't know if he thought i meant that the baby was at the door, but he jumps up from a laying down position to fully standing and starts spining circles on himself and begins insisting that he needs to shower. sitting on the edge on the bed, going through my first contractions, i tell him that if i can't take a shower, he can't take a shower either - when i think back, what a horrible thing to say but at the time, i could care less if he was dirty and/or groggy. minutes later, i find him on his hands and knees scrubing the bath tub, getting it ready for what was to come... seconds later the shower nazi that i'd become changs her mind and succumbs to the one demand he'll make all through the day. 


with the contractions getting stronger and stronger, i'm finding myself going back and forth from the edge of the bed to the bath tub without really knowing how to properly position myself. i keep thinking of the stages of labour that the midwife had explained to us and it just doesn't seem like i'm in full-on labour. she had mentionned to wait and that it wasn't necessary to call right away - a woman's first birth lasts on average anywhere between 16 to 24 hours with the first phase of latency potentially lasting up to 8 hours - contractions being short and quite distanced. my contractions seem long and are pretty close together - for some reason i didn't put two and two together right away or maybe i didn't want to face the obvious but i was already way passed that point: my labour was going quickly.

i guess i nonetheless felt in control of the situation because for those first hours i manage to get through the pain, knowing each contraction is bringing me that much closer to meeting my baby. at around 3:30 AM i met my poutine for second time in less than 24 hours. at this point, the contractions are quite strong and i find myself a little surprised by the pain. i have just enough time to motion to yann to give me the big plastic tupperware (we found it odd when we saw it on the list of things to have prepared for the home birth... until i needed it.) at 5:25 AM, yann asks me for what seems like the 300th time if i want him to call the midwife - i finally cave, mid-contraction, and say yes. i need her. i need her here. i need her now. i need her like i would need my mother. i no longer know what to do with myself and no longer feel like i can do this on my own. for the first time since 2:00 AM, i think to myself, "i'll never be able to do this" and something inside of me pushes that thought away as soon as it comes through. i know that i can't say it out loud or else i'm just proving everyone right. i know that i can't say it out loud or else i'm taping out before i've reached my goal - unbeknownst to me, i'd be saying it out loud a few hours later.

at 6:15 AM, i've resumed by "edge of the bed" position when the midwife arrives with her sweet, nurturing, calm self. i'm relieved to see her and her presence is like a breath of fresh air but i'm in the zone and just don't have time for politeness. she carefully sits down next to me and begins rubbing my back - a pleasurable, kind gesture but in that moment, the last thing i want is someone touching me. her soft touch feels unsettling. i bluntly get up and go back to my sweet, merciful tub. an hour and a half later, she finally musters up enough courage to ask if she can check me... i'm 7 cm dilated. full effaced. and i've already begun pushing. clearly, she knows, i don't really need her. her presence is enough for me. she calmly slips out on the sunny terrace and begins knitting...





to be continued. 

v + y = e & e

becoming a parent for the first time is life-changing for pretty much everyone. mind shattering for most. some have been waiting for this moment for as long as they can remember. others stumble upon a destiny they never thought would be their own. in my case, i was somewhere in between. i'd always wanted children but never thought i was responsible or practical enough to be a good mother. i always thought that i was too marginal, too much of a party animal, too opinionated to bring a child into this world in a fair, respectful and loving manner. i was scared and didn't trust myself and my instincts - most seemed to go against the grain of any decent parent i'd come across in my lifetime.

when i met yann, my biggest worry of the day was what i'd eat for supper - if anything at all. my diet consisted mainly of poutine, pizza, pasta, beer and cigarettes. i never ate breakfast, was almost always late for class, went into work drunk a few times (nothing to be proud of, i assure you) and spent most of my time drinking with whomever was available. bringing a child into the equation just didn't seem to make any sense at all - especially since i was single. but single or not, i knew i wanted to be a mother and for some reason, like most people my age, i felt i needed to get certain things done before achieving this goal. i thought i needed to finish school. that i needed a steady, full-time job. that i needed to be in a commited relationship for atleast 5 years. that maybe i even needed a house. that i needed to be engaged, then married. i felt that anyone who had a child without those things was - ironically - irresponsible and selfish. it seemed like there were so many steps between me and this diaper dream that it just wasn't going to happen for another 10 years. so i had just settled into this party-filled, carefree lifestyle. and it suited me just fine.

when i met yann, i was just fresh out of a relationship. heartbroken, i guess... from what i can remember - not that it really matters anymore. i had decided to put love aside for a while and to concentrate on the last few months of photography school. it was a passion of mine that i was hoping to turn into a profession and wasn't about to mess it up. i wanted to be serious - although i always had trouble doing just that. making funny/inappropriate comments always seemed more important than taking notes or listening to the lesson being given - i guess that was me being true to myself. but nonetheless, i was set on doing things right. and in order. 

but in order according to whom? 

when i met yann, i discovered someone who was carefree. not in a selfish way as he's probably the most selfless person i've ever met in my life but in a very healthy, "i am who i am" kind of way. he opened up my eyes to what "being yourself" really meant. he made no excuses. he was funny. charming. smart. sweet. he was thoughtful (he brought me a birthday gift when i was just the barista serving him his morning coffee!). caring. giving. he was an animal-lover (he would literally take breaks from work to go walk his dogs!). a movie buff. a vegetarian. a music lover. an artist. as loyal of a friend as they come. he just did what he wanted to do and i admired that. the more i got to know him, the more i wanted to spend time with him. just be around him. he had this aura about him. 

when i met yann, i fell in love with a person. not an idea. not a dream. not an image. he was, right down to the last detail, exactly what i didn't even know i was looking for all this time. there it was, in this cute little, inked, french package: the man of my dreams. the love of my life. he made me stop caring about all those details. he made me realize that life is about what you're doing and living in that moment. not what may or may not happen in 5 years. not what people thought. just how i felt. what i wanted. and what made me happy.

on october 7, 2010 (too much) wine finally gave us the courage to do what we had both secretly wanted to do for months. i may of been inebriated beyond recollection, but i do remember when he first held me in his arms. i remember that feeling that hollywood sells in about every single love movie. that feeling that the earth had stopped turning. cars have stopped moving. people have stopped walking. all that existed in that moment was me and him. we didn't even kiss. we didn't need to. we got out of the taxi and just stood there. smiling. i mustered the courage to tell him he should come sleep over... yeah, it escalated that quickly. we just cuddled (seriously!) all night. laughed like school children. and kissed. we finally kissed. my heart felt like it was going to explode. i didn't even go to school the next day. i can't believe i'm going to 'fess up to this but... i actually called his client and pretended to be is secretary and called in sick for him (horrible, i know but all worth it - she ended up getting another appointment in the weeks that followed, don't worry!!) we just laid there. all day. talking. smiling. kissing. not wanting to let each other go.


for those of you that are (extremely) good with calucations, i got pregnant about a month and a half later. suddenly, i no longer thought i had to finish school (don't worry, i did!). i no longer thought i needed a steady full-time job. that we needed to wait another 4 years and 10 months. or that we needed a house an a white picket fence. or that he had to propose (which oddly enough, he had done a few days before). all that mattered in that moment, on december 24th, 2010 when he walked out of the bathroom with that positive pregnancy test, was that we loved each other. in a way i never even thought humanly possible. all that mattered was that we were so committed to each other, that we knew we'd make things work. all that mattered was the mutual respect we had for each other. i didn't care if it was selfish. or irresponsible. i didn't care about my decision-making skills. or if i was too opinionated to raise a child. all i cared about was sharing this mind-shattering, life changing event with him. suddenly, going against the grain became our motto. we didn't care what other people thought or how things were supposed to be done. we knew how we wanted to do things. we knew how we wanted to raise this child. 

when i met yann, i was carefree, opinionated and just wanted to have fun... frankly, a child and a pregnancy later, none of that has changed and i don't ever want it to. i don't want a house with a white picket fence. i don't want to redecorate my living room every 2 years with the latest ikea fashion. i don't want to pretend to be anyone else other than who i am. and i certainyl don't need a big diamond ring. i don't make excuses. i've become a practical and responsible version of myself without losing the rebel side. i've stopped planning and started living. whatever happens, happens and we make the most of it. that's what life is about. well, atleast that's what mine is about. 

57 dels of pain.

it's been awhile. i know. and now i'm back from my little hiatus. i shot a wedding in quebec city, my fiancé was on vacation, we attended the 3-day wedding of two of our best friends, i had a maternity shoot, had some visit from france, met with clients for another wedding coming up in september, had my first blood tests and met with our new doctor to begin the follow-up with baby numéro deux. it's been quite busy and hectic around here for the past few weeks (or is it few years?!) but we've managed to keep our heads and hearts in the right places. if there's one thing i've learnt about being a parent over this past year it's that nothing is ever easy but everything is always worth it.

some moments are painful emotionally while others rate higher on the physical or psychological scale. all in all, i feel it's all part of the package deal of being a parent. some scars heal faster than others, some can be seen and others felt. for me, my biggest scar remains in my inability to fully express how much i enjoyed birthing to those around me. i feel like there is an incredible level of comprehension, listening, repsect and compassion for women who had a traumatic or difficult birth experience. on the flip side, i've found myself feeling quite lonely when speaking of my experience. sometimes, you could almost hear a pin drop. like no one wanted to keep talking about it. and yet, it seems ok to perpetuate this horrible image of birth. almost like those who had an amazing birth should keep from talking it out of respect for those who didn't have such an amazing experience... and frankly, i'm annoyed. 

don't get me wrong, every birth story, every mother becoming a mother is a sacred event in any woman's life. every story and experience should be cherished and shared. but not just the bad ones. what about those women who have orgasmic births? or those women who birth in 15 minutes flat, from beginning to end? what about other women, like me, who enjoyed the rite of passage that was the pain in birth? why can't there be more talk about that and less talk of c-sections, 40-hour labors and forceps? why is it that i feel bad and cut back on details when speaking to a woman who's had a traumatic birth? why is it that most of what i hear is women telling other women how horrible birthing is, how painful it is, how a man could never withstand that type of pain, how birthing is the equivalent to every bone in your body breaking, how you might as well just get the epidural right away cause there's no way you'll endure it... come on,really?! what's the point? to further condition people into being scared? to convince mothers to get epidurals faster? to get fathers on edge before even entering the hospital? i don't think i ever will understand this ever-growing culture where women - strong, positive role model-material women - become horrifid infants at the thought of birthing. which mind you, is the most empowering, feminine, loving, selfless and powerful thing i've ever done. 

we are doing to ourselves what doctors did to women years ago when they tried shoving midwifery aside to bring birthing into hospitals and away from the safe haven that is your home: they scared the living daylights out of women and managed to convince them to let go all of their ability to take a decision on their own and to birth on their own. people speak of epidurals like they were some sort of magic drug that allowed you to have your child faster. quicker. easier. but who ever said birth was supposed to fast, quick and easy? your birth will be as good as you let it be. if you let it be. if you have faith in yourself instead of someone else. let the pain overcome you, let it come back and know that every time you feel a painful contraction, it's just your child getting that much closer to you.  

i'm sorry but i don't respect my mother MORE because she painfully gave birth to me. i respect her because she gave birth to me. period. she carried me for 9 months (and then some...sorry mom for those extra 11 days), she birthed me naturally, she breastfed me (sorry about that, too!), she raised me, she taught me pretty much everything i know, she encouraged me and rooted me on through thick and thin, she's loved me unconditionally since the day she first laid eyes on me... for these reasons i'm forever grateful. hearing her birth story has brought me closer to her, has given me an insight as to what type of person she really is outside of being my mother and helped shape my opinion on how i wanted my own birth to happen. i didn't need that story to see her as a superhero. she already was just that in my eyes.  

my grandmother gave birth to a breeched baby. her first child. 36-hour long labour. in the woods. in a trailer. alone, with no family around. all my grandfather was allowed to do, was stand outside and smoke cigarette after cigarette - listening to his wife scream. i've heard this story time and time again. and if i were to list a list of 1000 reasons why i love, cherish and respect my grandmother, i don't even think this story would come up. 

and for as long as i've lived (ok, it really hasn't been that long but it just sounds good when i say it like that) i've never heard either my grandmother or my mother hang either story over the head of their respective children. i've never heard them tell their stories with a frown or with frustration. so what makes us need to do so? what's changed from then until now? what pushes people to say things like, "you know a man could never survive that type of pain?!". honestly, who cares? what does that have anything to do with... well, anything really. it's silly and childish and frankly, quite pointless. 

oddly enough, i thought writing this would make me feel better. that it would take a weight off my shoulders and that this was the perfect place to let loose and unleash my deepest thoughts and feelings - yet, as i'm writing this, i'm already imagining some of you curse at your screen. please, know and understand this: i respect everyone's story. i might not understand what some of you have been through but i think the same can be said about me. or anyone else for that matter. everyone has their own story. their personal experience. their vision. and that's fair. what i feel isn't fair is tainting someone's experience before they even got to live it themselves. what isn't fair is making birth out to seem like some bad dream that you need to be sedated for. what isn't fair is making it seem like we are superior beings and only we could ever survive such an ordeal... yet not doing it ourselves. what isn't fair is making a choice before even knowing what birth will be like. what isn't fair is becoming a slave to the medical community and relinquishing all ability to make decisions for ourselves and for our child.


birth is a voyage on which both you and your child will embark on together. it will make you an entirely different person and embellish the person you already were all at once. birth brings people together and shows us the true meaning of unconditional love. it brings out the best - and worst in us. embrace it. enjoy it. relish in it. love it. respect it. believe in yourself. in your body. in your child. accept the pain. it's a tiny price to pay to fully experience a miracle first hand. and remember: if you're sedated but your child isn't, didn't you guys just two take different roads, one bumpy and the other not to so much, to meeting each other? that really doesn't seem fair. 

my top 5

i want need to start off by saying that i'm incredibely overwhelmed and touched by the response of my first post. honestly, i never thought i would be talking about natural/home birth on this blog (my ideas were more or less about recipes, baby products, movies, books, etc) but for anyone that's had a sit down conversation with me in the last year or so, you'll know that it's a subject i'm very passionate about and i think it came sort of naturally for me to write on the subject as we're awaiting baby #2.

*http://lesaccouchiantes.blogspot.ca/

i have to admit, when i first started reading on the subject and discussing natural birth with our midwife, most of the information she gave us actually struck me as logical even though most of it was news to me! (in all honesty, i was a total ignoramus when it came to birth when i first got pregnant - the idea of a child inside me made me think more of a certain 1979 ridley scott movie than a beautiful life-changing experience...) the more i learnt, the more questions i didn't even know i had were getting answered - why tell a woman to push, when her body actually does it for her? why induce labour when the due date is nothing set in stone and actually changes the further into the pregnancy we get? why get a woman to lay on her back - squatting actually gives 30% more room - when it's actually proven that it constricts the exit for the baby? why constantly check a woman's cervix when it might in fact infect the area? why systematically shoot women with pitocin when her body is already secreting oxytocin? why are we giving birth in fully lit, busy environments when every other mammal on planet earth finds the calmest, most dimly lit place they can find to do their thing? why are we conditioning women to feel and believe that they can't birth and need assistance to allow their body to do what it was made to do? 


so many things started making sense and slowly things fell into place. our choice was made and i felt confident it was the right one... even for a first-time mother, my nervousness lay in my weight gain more than the actual birth. i was fortunate enough to have a fiancé and family who were 200% supportive of my decision. i felt i had the proper tools, i was prepared and most of all, i knew i was well surrounded. but as prepared as i was physically, mentally and emotionally of the BIRTH - i wasn't ready for the comments, the snickers, the questions... even now, there are days where i feel overwhelmed by, "you're pregnant again?" (that magic word!) or "you know it's going to be hard having them so close together?" and yet a year ago the comments were almost unanimous: "you want to what? give birth at home?!" and laughter almost always followed. when it wasn't laughter it was confusion or contempt. actually, here are some of my all-time favorite comments heard over the course of my first pregnancy:


1. "you're so courageous/amazing!"
to me being courageous is going to a neon-lit, germ-infested place filled with a bunch of people i don't know. people whom i've never even met before in my life and around whom i'm supposed to be so comfortable (half naked, ass hanging out with my feet propped on some awkward metal contraption, mind you...) that my child will calmly and naturally come into this world. courageous to me is letting these strangers touch me all day long, talk about things that apparently i don't need to know about, going ahead with interventions without bothering to ask for my permission and rushing around like all hell has broken loose (all these are taken from real-life stories. i'm not making any of this up to make a point... although i wish i was). courage is all a matter of perspective. i don't feel like i did anything extraordinary and it boggles me when i'm told, over and over, how courageous i am. thank you, really, but i'm not anymore courageous than anyone else. i'm just following my body along for the ride.




2. "i wish i could do what you did... but my husband/boyfriend/family would never accept it."
anyone can give birth naturally. anyone who has't had a complication-ridden pregnancy. anyone who isn't carrying mutliples. anyone who is under 40. you don't need to do it at home. you don't need a widmife. you don't need a fancy birthing pool. you don't need a haystack and incense burning. you just need information. information, an understanding, well-informed doctor and  to be mentally and physically prepared. sounds a lot like a hospital birth? that's cause it is. except i chose to take it in my own hands. i owned up to my choices. don't be afraid to let people know that this is your time to shine. making decisions as a new mom - or expectant mom - is always a little tricky. (i found it hard at times to stand by my decision. i'd often get nervous when explaining certain things...) someone ALWAYS has something to say, some advice they once heard back in '42 and it had worked for her mother and her sister and... please! follow your instincts. (never failed me so far.) you aren't comfortable with all the medical jargon that's flying around? stop and ask questions. don't be afraid. it's never too late. read - but not just the books that everyone swears by. read something no one told you about. you might find there's something in there for you... an extra argument that might help you put your surroundings at ease about your decision - whatever that may be.


if your family loves you, and i'm absolutely 1 000% sure they do, then they can find in themselves to respect you and your choices for birthing (and raising for that matter...) your own child. i remember my father had so many questions, so many doubts... he was afraid and didn't know what i was getting myself into. instead of judging my decision, he chose to ask questions. some of them silly, others not so much. but he respected my choices and i respected his curiosity and with the knowledge i had in hand, i was able to put him at ease. today, he very proudly tells people i gave birth at home. and like any good father would do, he defends my decision when people don't understand... it's a beautiful thing, really.

** before my next point i want to say one thing. a questions that's come up a lot. a point that seems to surprise people everytime: midwives are medically trained people. they come prepared. they can reanimate you or your child. they come with an oxygen tank. material for sutures. they also always came with a driver's license which comes in handy if you need to go to hospital. i will be talking about her/that more in the future... our meetings with her, the care we got, the preparation for a home birth, etc.i'm done. keep reading.


3. "but you can get an epidural... right?!" or "when are you getting induced?" or "how can you live without knowing the sex?" or "you haven't given birth yet?!"
first of all: stop. just stop. second of all: no. there is no epidural at a home/natural birth. no pitocin. no forceps (if the midwife had some, i didn't see them come out). that's kinda part of the charm. no induction either (our midwife did give us a list of things to do when i reached 40 weeks ranging from taking walks to having sex to drinking castor oil). and really, due dates are as a good an astrological prediction - trust me one that one. well into your last trimester, your due date becomes even less accurate - it also depends on your menstrual cycle. women who have a cycle longer than 28 days are more likely to go over their magical "due date". 


still, it seems like a settling piece of information for people to have - like knowing the sex before birth. yet how many people do you know actually gave birth on their due date? personnally, i know none. not one. single. person. early or late but rarely right on time. and how many stories of "it's a girl!" actually turning into "it's a boy!" once delivery rolled around? a lot more than i would of expected. in the end, it's the only real, big surprise you'll ever get to have in your life... why not keep it? 


as for the "harassing" - for lack of a better word at the moment - a week prior and after my "due date"... it was just... i don't even know how to explain it. there are two people in the world who are more anxious than anyone else to see a child be born. and that's it's parents. i had people telling me, "gosh, give birth already... i can't wait to see it/know what it is!" or "wow, 9 months is really long" and frankly i was more annoyed by the questions than by the actual waiting part. i knew that if it (i'm saying "it" because at the time we didn't know it was a "she") wasn't here yet, it was only because it wasn't ready. 9 months is long enough, no need to pester people. when the baby comes, if you're in the parents' entourage, you'll know. trust me. the birth of a child is rarely one of those hush-hush moments... people tend to want to talk about it. you might actually get annoyed of how much they talk about it but that's another subject altogether! 




ps. i apologize to any woman (em cp, sorry!) who i have ever said any of the following too - i just didn't know any better... 




4. "you'll never be able to make it through the pain without anything. i know i couldn't. i had to take it. no choice."
ok - why is it that other women feel the need to scare expectant mothers, like they're proving a point by mentioning how much it hurts? first off, everyone is different. we all live and feel things differently. and yes, it hurts. get over it. it's part of the deal. it won't scar you for life... what might though is having a horrible medicated birth experience during which you felt completely detached. a birth where virtually nothing is in your control and you're a spectator instead of the star player.


i chose to leave the pitocin behind. for me, it was more than important to let my hormones do their work. i'm far from being a patient person but this was one thing i was willing to wait out... even if it took 10 hours. (and it rarely does when going the natural route - most girls i know who had a home/natural birth, had their baby in their arms in 10 hours flat. from beginning to end.) 
oxytocin is a magical hormone - it kick starts your contractions, it gets you ready for bonding with your baby, it gets your breastmilk flowing and it also (amazingly enough) helps you deal with the pain. among so many other amazing things. (you can look into it, many websites explain well pitocin and oxytocin - here is one: http://www.birthresourcenetwork.org/resources/54-pitocin-the-whole-story-) 
*side note about pitocin: it was often tested on animals and almost always the outcome was horrible - mother abandonning her babies, mother unable to recover, placenta rupturing, baby/mother not making it through...


also, i couldn't picture myself going with the epidural. i wanted the freedom to move. the ability to feel my baby coming down. i wanted to push on my own, not have someone tell me when and for how long. the amazing thing was, my body did all the work. no one came to tell me, "ok, it's time.". i just knew it was. the only thing i could fathom of doing was pushing. (my only good comparison is this: does anyone need to tell you to push when you #2?) speaking of #2, this is personal, but i also wanted to know if i was going... i didn't want someone just picking up after me, without even knowing i had gone. i'm 25, not 125. i'd like to keep my dignity another few years. if possible. 


bottom line is this: stop scaring women. and women, stop being scared. we were made for this. the best way to not be scared, is to be informed - please, put down "what to expect when you're expecting" and read something outside the box that might actually help. read about a subject you know nothing about. put as much thought into pitocin as you do wall colors for the baby room. spend as much time looking for information about epidurals and cesarian rates than clothes shopping. you'll be glad you did. (you can thank me later...:P)


and the best and most reassuring thing i heard BEFORE giving birth:
5. "if i had homebirthed, my child would be dead."(i got my fiancé to read this before posting it and he said that he's has a slew of his clients tell him this!!!)
this pretty much goes with #4 but it was so ridiculous/outrageous it needed its own number. yes, two entire human beings told me this. how unbelievably settling, right? i understand the intentions behind the message, but for someone who's never given birth and has chosen the marginal route... worst. possible. thing. to. say. ever. it made me feel like shit. it made me feel like my choice was the worst possible one. it made me feel like we were preparing the murder of our own child before it was even born. it had me turned upside down for days (both times) and had me rethinking my entire "plan". please, stop perpetuating the idea that birth is horrible, scary and impossible to manage on your own. it isn't. never was. and never will be.




oddly enough, i never had the courage to answer to most of those questions/comments. mainly because at the time, i didn't know. i thought, maybe they're right. maybe i can't do this. i couldn't know for sure until i did it and saw for myself what all the fuss was about. one thing i know for sure now, when people ask me if it hurts all i know to anwer is this: it was worth every ache and pain, every tear, every bead of sweat, every moan and every little groan. i would do it again. and again. and again. any day of the week. yes, it's painful. but isn't that true of a lot of things in life? no pain, no gain... right?! i'd rather hurt for a few hours and know that i made the best possible choice for myself than to follow into someone else's footsteps doing something i'm uncomfortable with and regret it for the rest of my life. i just can't imagine myself going through such a special period in my life... in a hospital. 




i didn't feel sick and i sure as hell didn't feel like my life was threatened. my life was just about to change... and i wanted to share that with people who would care. who might even shed a tear when IT finally came... and they did.