dear natural birth club

the face of a proud mama (even if i was kicked out of your club)

Dear Natural Birth Club,

You know, I thought I would have easy access into your club. I was the no-interventions-thank-you, diving-in-the-birth-pool, I-am-mama-watch-me-push sort of woman.

Not that I think pushing makes me more of a woman. (But is that what you think? Cuz sometimes you make other mamas feel that way.)

But you gotta understand, my son had other plans for our special day; he had some ideas of his own about how to spend his birthday.

Apparently no matter how empowered and ready this mama felt, baby boy just wasn’t keen for a squeeze through that tunnel. 

My boy is a strong lad. You know the type… the kind that wants to set himself apart from the crowd, the kind that’s got a mind of his own, the kind that’s—perhaps—a little bit like his mama.

And by that I mean breech of course… just like you-know-who way back in the late 70's.

Let me remind you - I wanted to join in your club. I had every intention of acquiring membership.

But intentions weren't enough.

My husband and midwife and I had grand plans. Hubs came dressed in his boardies, I came with the perfect playlist prepared… and baby boy blue came upside-down. (Or, uh, right-side-up?)

I might have made it into your club had I gotten a late term ultrasound… but let me remind you that out of the hundreds of babies my dear midwife has delivered (bless her precious heart) I was her one mistake (and her partner’s mistake, and about four other midwives who also checked me along the way). All of those sweet souls felt my boy’s head just where it belonged – engaged and read to go.

Except for the fact that it wasn’t.

{My boy had one bony bum… enough to fool ‘em all I guess.}

The reality is, some mistakes have a whole lot of implications. And you can’t very well turn a baby when mama’s already twelve hours into labor, now can you?

So really, doesn’t it count that I wanted to be “one of you”? Doesn’t it count that I thought like you and practiced like you and dreamed like you… for nine long months and twelve long hours?

Or does the fact that I now have a big old beautiful scar on my belly forever exclude me from your club?

Will I always be an outsider because I didn’t push?

Yes, Natural Birth Club, you’re incredibly exclusive. And maybe you don’t intend to be, but you’ve gotta know… that sometimes in your enthusiasm you make those of us who never quite made the cut feel a little bit… left out. Or even worse, lessor.

Disagree with me if you want, but I’m of the opinion that sometimes you can be a little bit snarky, a little bit snobbish, a little bit exclusive. Please don’t act all superior just because your birth plan went according to… plan. 

But let me give you the benefit of the doubt. You probably don't even mean to do it - you're most likely just trying to advocate for women to know their options... But in your zeal please remember us wanna-be's... and even those who deliberately choose otherwise. We all have our reasons.

{I’m tough too, you know. You try recovering from major surgery, constantly suppressing laughter—oooouch—at your husband’s unceasing dad jokes, and caring for a newborn all at once.}

So really Natural Birth Club, you and I – we aren’t all that different. We both wanted what’s best for our babies and what’s best for ourselves. It’s just that my road there (to happy baby-on-the-outside land) had a bend in it that yours didn’t.

I’m just sayin.

Be nice. Give me a hug. Let’s be friends. We've got more in common than you think.

Sincerely,
an initially-disappointed-yet-extremely-grateful-and-proud
mama who sometimes feels just a little left out

p.s. I formed a new club: The Mamas Who Gave Birth Club. It’s a little more all-inclusive… and you’re absolutely welcome to join if you wish. No membership dues or initiation stunts required.

Have you registered your blog here yet?

adriel booker | the mommyhood memos | 2010 
do not reproduce without written permission

oh fair Nap Time, where art thou?

Dear Nap Time,

I hate you. No, I love you. No I hate you. Where are you?

It seems not that long ago that I had a sleepy newborn that was no so sleepy. Don’t get me wrong – he was an amazing sleeper at night and I was one happy momma about that. But Nap Time, you were nowhere to be seen.

And we had a major Nap Time-shaped-hole in our hearts.

Then, after some searching and woo-ing and very hard momma-work, you came bounding into our lives at two months old. You came, you cooperated, you made my sweet boy happy. You made him alert. You made me sane. You started to give my puffy eyes a make-over. You even gave me a chance to meet my own Nap Time every few days.

How I loved you. How we loved you.

But you only stayed for two months. You came and stole our hearts and then you took off.

What was it about my son’s four-month birthday that turned you off? Was it the drool? The tooth? The new sitting-up-trick? Was it the massive growth spurt? The immunizations? The constant rolling-over? Were you angry because we took away the swaddle? (Come on, you know it was time.) Did the unbelievable cuteness become too much to handle anymore?

Or is this just a conspiracy between you and God to make me pray more? (It's working you cheeky Nap Time!)

I’ve gone ‘round and ‘round and can make no sense of your departure. I just don’t understand why you left. You had it so good here with our happy little family. I set the mood for you. I honored your time table. I gave you consistency. And yes, I realize you’ve been back since then… but only for fleeting visits. You have been such a tease these last six weeks.

When did this relationship get so toxic? So one-sided? So unpredictable? So shaky at best?

You want the truth? Here it is: I think it's grossly unfair that I have to walk on eggshells and cater to your every whim. Where's the give and take? Where's the mutual respect?

And now you’ve left again… and I hate you for it.

Except that I still love you. I do. I really, really do. (Is this what they would call a co-dependency?)

If you would come back, I would take you in a heartbeat. But I want you to come back and stay. Move in. Unpack your bags and change your address. What must I do to convince you that you belong here? This is your home.

Is it immaturity that makes you so fickle? I don’t understand why you constantly come and go. Your commitment issues are a concern to me. Why don’t you just move in and stay forever? Or could you at least stay until my sweet boy is a bit older? Like maybe four? (That’s only three-and-a-half more years!) Surely it’s not too much to ask.

I promise we’ll make you comfortable here. I’ll draw the curtains. I’ll turn on the fan. I’ll even play music if that’s what you wish.

But please, oh pluh-leeeeese Nap Time, won’t you come back to us?

We’re lost without you. We’re tired. We’re grumpy. We’re teary. We have a short attention span and a failing memory. Our kitchen floor is covered in crumbs and our laundry is overflowing. The bags under our eyes are back and no doubt our blood pressure has climbed.

This just isn’t good for us.

If we’ve done something to offend you – tell me! We’ll undo it! We’ll make it up to you! I promise we’ll do everything in our power to make you want to stay this time.

Nap Time, I really do love you. I’m sorry I said “I hate you”. I didn’t mean it. Forgive me! I love you. We love you. We neeeeeeeed you.

The key is under the mat. You know where your room is.

Nap Time, please make haste!

Waiting in hope and a slight bit of panic,

     levi & mommy

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