Birth Stories

It was just supposed to be a quick phone call—double check my friend’s due date, assure her that yes, I was available to watch her one-year-old daughter when she went into labour, and then I’d be off the phone and watching a movie with my hubby. I should have known that (a) any conversation with my friend wouldn’t be quick and (b) any conversation about birth wouldn’t be quick.

We moved from her upcoming birth to her last birth to my birth to her friend’s last birth and upcoming birth. It’s a topic both of us are fairly opinionated about, but then, what woman who’s been through it isn’t? It’s a life-changing experience—and rightfully so. Bringing a new life into the world is no small matter, and every nine months of that journey contain unforgettable, amazing, and frustrating moments.

A while ago, I was researching writing markets and discovered Childbirth Solutions. I browsed through their articles, mentally agreeing or disagreeing, and perused a few of the birth stories. I find it fascinating how we all want to share our birth stories, to somehow convey to the world this incredible experience we went through—and yet the words never do justice to how that experience really affected each of us.

I used to groan every time my mom told the story of my own birth, on this day twenty-six years ago. I’m a twin, and because of that she ended up on several weeks (or was it months?) of bed rest before going into labour. When labour did finally start, my brother was in ready to get out, until I decided I wanted to be first (or so mom tells the story). She spent the next twelve hours pushing down hard while the doctor attempted to push up on my head so my brother could get out. It didn’t work. When he said “C-section,” she said, “Put me under.” And so it was that the doctor pulled my brother out of my mom’s tummy just a short minute before pulling me out, and I became the second-born.

It rankled me that I was the problem, that that moment seemed to define me for the rest of my life.  (I did compete with my brother until we were in our late teens, each of us trying to be “first” still.) Now that I’ve been through birth myself, I see that story differently. I know how it feels to think that if one thing had been differently, it would have gone better. I had a really good, ten-hour birth—but Sunshine, the midwife told me, was sideways, and so labour was stalled until she turned and slid out. Maybe she could have been born hours earlier if she’d been properly positioned, if I’d walked more to help her turn, if…

And so I continue to share my story with other moms, to listen to their stories, to sympathize and agonize and rejoice with them, over our birth stories and this amazing process of bringing new lives into the world.