I struggle with competitive birthing, I struggle with any competitions but particularly one that makes a woman feel like it’s possible to fail at doing something that’s as weird exceptionally beautiful and mental as giving birth.
I wanted to give birth like a hero, like an Olympian. I wanted to be that soul mumma who managed to not flinch during a home birth with essential oils in a spa while levitating.
I couldn’t even walk into a night club in my twenties drug free why did I think I could push a baby out?
So needless to say, I wasn’t successful at harmonic birthing, I was in a hospital screaming for drugs, they came but never soon enough.
As a result my second labour was more of a morphine session, in other words I loved every second of it, thought I was a queen, hugged nurses, requested massages and so on. I pretty much just lay there loving myself, blowing my doctor kisses while he pulled a baby out of my fanny. I actually even think I had a mild morphine withdrawal the next day.
When I fell pregnant with the twins I finally stopped kidding myself and booked my first C section. Hallelujah. People say C sections aren’t natural, weird because the decision to have one came very organically to me.
However at 34 weeks my stumpy torso gave in and I went into labour naturally.
I can’t even plan a C section properly!!
I was in so much agony that I told Billy I wasn’t going to wait for my mum to get here and jumped in the car to drive myself in.
I literally screamed the whole way to the hospital, my waters dribbling down my legs I was absolutely positive I would give birth on the side of the freeway to two babies and then die.
But I made it there, waddling down the labour ward screaming and yelling at everyone that “MY BABIES ARE COMING OUT!!!! MY LAST LABOUR WAS QUICK!!!! THEY ARE COMING!!!”
Billy arrived minutes later, he said he could hear me screaming from the elevator. He came to my side.
As he walked into the room that I had been plonked in at the same time the doctor arrived with his glove on. Of course by then I was crying in so much pain, he assumed I was 10cm dilated and was stressed about the twins positions as we were all prepped for the C section that we might not make it to and Rumi was still breach.
He shoved his hand right up my clacker, I didn’t even care.
He pulled it out said
“Constance, your not even 1 cm dilated” #stillnotafail.
It became clear to everyone that I didn’t have a very high pain threshold.
So as they were getting me ready for me C- section of course the nerves made me need to poo.
Billy had to walk me to the toilet and pull down my undies. I was thinking to myself “I thought a C section was the civilised option, I don’t really feel civilised holding my husbands hands while pushing out a poo.
Now the embarrassing part here is that while helping me up, Bill had a confused look on his head after copping an eye full of my business.
I bursts out with “Don’t look Bill!!!! It’s a big poo!!!! It’s a nervous poo!! Nerve poos are always huge!!”
So pissed off and in agony I finally got my drugs and went forth with my Caesarian.
I don’t feel like a failure, I’m certainly not a natural but how could anyone feel like a failure after creating life?
Competitive birthday can fuck right off, women are such incredible life giving, fertility goddesses.
There are no winners, no losers no hero’s and certainly no failures, just amazingness feminine
Warriors that deserve the ground before them kissed by virgins. 👊🏼