M* arrived via cesearean. There's a longer story than that. But the end result is the same. Around 4:00 last Sunday, after careful planning of a natural birth, including midwives and a doula and childbirth classes... an obstetrician cut my abdomen open and pulled out my baby.

For some reason, in the cult of pregnancy and childbirth, I am supposed to feel cheated now. I am supposed to feel like less of a mother because she didn't get out through my vagina. I am supposed to be disappointed in myself for asking for an epidural, blaming myself for our "failure to progress".

I don't. What I feel is this. I conceived a child. I carried it for 40 weeks and 2 days. I nurtered it inside my body. I had morning sickness and cravings and got fat and big with child. My body grew a child. And then, I labored for 26 hours. Then I pushed for 2. And then someone thankfully took her out.

It doesn't make me weak. It doesn't make me feel bad. And I certainly, absolutely, no questions, do NOT feel less of a mother for not having made her come out through my vagina.

Where did all of this judging come from? You can only be the holy purity of motherhood if you push it out vaginally? With no drugs? Or can you use drugs so long as it comes out naturally? What if you have a completely unevenful pregnancy with no suffering, followed by a blissfully easy birth experience? Does that make you a better mother or MORE of a mother than a woman who throws up every day for the entire pregnancy and then has an emergency c-section?

Since when does motherhood mean some set of rules and regulations describing the experience of childbirth alone?

Mothers come in all types. Some get their children out by pushing. Some get them out by surgery. Some get them from China or Russia. Now, I don't know much about mothering yet. I've only been at this for 6 days. But I am pretty sure that the events of July 7 do not sum up how I am going to be as a mother.

I'm supposed to find it harder to bond with this baby because I didn't touch her for almost 24 hours. Because she didn't come out in this glowing gush where I got to pull her out myself and put her on my stomach...and now I'm supposed to have trouble connecting to her. Let me tell you, if I felt any more connected to this child, I'd be in a heap of trouble.

I went online looking for information on recovering from a c-section. I wanted to know the PHYSICAL stuff because, frankly, I wasn't feeling terribly bad about myself emotionally.

Then, of course, I start reading all these other women who feel cheated, that they did something wrong, they'd failed or feel that they have already ruined their child's life by having them come out into bright lights and by not being their first human contact.

Maybe they feel this way because they set themselves up some high expectations as to what it means to give birth. They hadn't allowed for the possibility that they may not have the experience they sought.

Added to that is the way other mothers feel so sorry for the c-section mama. Like they've HEARD that we all feel like shit for failing. And they think somehow that we've failed. So somehow, it all gets translated into this who grading system where the best births are the ones at the top with no drugs. And all the way through we judge how our babies come into this world as a reflection on how good we are, how we manage pain, how strong, or how dedicated to our children.

I am already a wonderful mother. I chose to end the pain of labor after 22 hours. I asked for a c-section when I realized she wasn't coming out the other way. I was in charge the entire time.

And now. My baby is crying. So I am going to go feed her. Because that is what mothers do. And I am a mother.

< previous | next >