The Predisastered Pages

I am a member of the screwed up labor and delivery club. My baby, who’s now twelve, and I — slightly older than twelve [times three] — almost died when my uterus hemorrhaged. Then Bella’s placenta broke. Although the odds of that happening are incredibly slim, I know quite a few folks who have equally horrifying childbirth stories. I’m sure God would agree it was the miracle of modern medicine which saved all of our lives, rather than that of sheer willpower vs. everything Darwin.

My problem is not with natural childbirth; it’s with the myth this method somehow proves the mother’s strength and determination. Look, any woman with a functioning reproductive system and a hearty vagina can make a baby and have it. It’s science, folks — not some kind of mystical happening bestowed upon humanity by forest faeries and unicorns and nymphs and centaurs and demigods who live in hidden pockets of English moors. If delivering a baby naturally is your gig, cool. Go for it, please. Just don’t expect me to give you some kind of medal later on unless you were stuck in an airplane or on the tram going across the Royal Gorge or something like that.

Have some manners around those of us who never had a chance, okay? A squadron of surgeons put a Franken-zipper across my stomach after they saved my life. It still hurts sometimes. See me pulling out my Golden Uterus/Mother of the Year trophy? Nah, because that would be tacky, and no one cares except Bella. Well, and me. Naturally.

Really want to show the public how dedicated you are to the awe of organic, pesticide-free, crunchy granola motherhood and the way things ’should’ be? Sacrifice more than twenty-four hours of your life. Nurse your baby like this is South America. Get rid of your disposable diapers. Stay at home with your child — not just until it starts elementary school, but until it leaves home. Can’t do that? Welcome to the club then. Perhaps you’re not so natural after all, so get on with your bad self. Having a baby is committal, inconvenient, and often a very unnatural event. Those of us who had to incorporate Plan B can relate. And, Sister, I feel your pain, believe me. Isn’t it enough we’re all thrilled you had an adorable baby without being subjected to your Linda Carter swagger?

That said, I need to have my wisdom teeth taken out. They’re infected. I figure it should hurt a lot less than ‘natural’ childbirth because my vagina seems a lot smaller than my mouth. Plus those teeth really don’t have all that far to travel. Anyone know a good partner who can coach me through this naturally, like it’s supposed to be done, without drugs? I’m just going to rip those suckers out on my own. Then I’ll finally be the Amazon I’ve always bitterly wished I could have been.

Right?

Your sister in this uterine solidarity one way or another,

Kristan