Letting it go

From time to time I get really reflective about my childbirth experiences with my two sweeties. Part of this is my nature and part of this is to sort out my feelings so I can be professional as a doula.

I became a doula before I was a mother. I have always been amazed at the capacity of the human body to bring forth life! Childbirth is a transformative experience even if it is a small part of the mantle of Motherhood. I believe in women's bodies to do the work of childbirth and have been at the side of laboring mothers as they find their inner strength and resolve to do something they have never done before. Even if a woman has had a babe before, each birth is a unique and different experience that requires every ounce of strength a woman has within herself.

How ironic that I hold such faith in the bodies of women and yet I can not have the vaginal delivery I have always wanted. It is a place that stings in my heart. It is the first real experience that involved just me that I couldn't make work no matter how hard I wanted it or tried. I fantasized about the moment when my baby would be born and that warm new little person would be placed on my chest for me to breath in and admire. A moment I have shared with other women but a moment I will never have myself.

It is not for lack of knowledge...It is not for lack of desire. I never doubted my ability to give birth. In fact, my labor with her was a beautiful experience. When my daughter became stuck in my pelvis when I reached 10 cm I was sure she would just move down, I had seen it happen. I rested, I pushed, I walked, I cried, I pushed, I moved....for 6 hours. Her heart did not like it. Her heart rate dropped and dropped and dropped. Being on the brink Motherhood, I would have given my life for her. I had a very unexpected Cesarean birth.

When I was pregnant with my son I was sure it would be different this time. If only I had moved more, given it more time, had a more relaxed atmosphere, I 'knew' I could have birthed my daughter. I picked apart every last detail of my unmedicated labor with my daughter to make sense of it all. I visualized my son being born. I drove myself crazy researching midwives and Ob's who were supportive of VBAC. I looked into homebirth. I read encouraging data about VBAC outcomes. I 'knew' I could do it. After a preterm labor scare at 33 weeks, 11 days of prodromal labor with contractions 2-5 minutes apart several times a day as his birth drew near I was excited.

My labor with my son was a beautiful and empowering experience. My husband, my doula, my midwife, and a lovely labor and delivery nurse were all with me; believing with me. Every breath. Every contraction. Every time I sank into despair.

When I reached 10 cm and my son became stuck in my pelvis I was sure he would just move down, I had seen it happen. I rested, I pushed, I walked, I cried, I pushed, I moved....for 3 hours. This time I knew he would not come. In the quiet space within I cried.


My body can not do it. And I am sad.

My gratitude that we are all alive and well is deep. My sadness that I won't have the experience that I thought I could create will leave in time. But it's here now. More pronounced as we quickly move towards my son's first birthday. More pronounced as I contemplate having more children and knowing that I will never be in labor again with the goal of a vaginal delivery. It's more pronounced because I don't know that I can have an invasive surgery again for someone who I do not yet know...who is not yet growing inside me.