When it comes to discussions about childbirth, count me out. Every time I find myself pulled into these dialogues, things take an unusual turn.
“My labor was excruciating. But the anesthesia was blissful. The pushing was quite the ordeal, and then — poof! — a baby appeared. That’s pretty much it.”
And honestly, that’s how I view it. Giving birth was simply a medical procedure that resulted in a new life entering the world.
Hooray for the baby! Now, onto more pressing matters.
Let me clarify: I recognize that childbirth is a monumental event. It brought me my two incredible children, and for that, I am forever grateful. Before giving birth, I was just a woman; afterward, I became a mother. So yes, childbirth is significant. Yay for birth!
However, for me, the entire experience served as a means to achieve an end. While it was undoubtedly a remarkable physical challenge, I didn’t dwell on it much.
That was until a few weeks into motherhood when I finally emerged from my self-imposed isolation, eager to connect with other moms and willing to engage in any conversation that could foster friendship.
Clueless as I was, I ventured into every parenting group, church gathering, and random assembly of parents at the playground searching for adult interaction. To my astonishment, no matter what else we could discuss, the conversation always veered toward — you guessed it — birth stories. Every. Single. Time.
Whoa, ladies. We just met, and we’re already diving into conversations about perineal stitches?
Can we not?
Clearly, childbirth is a topic that many women enjoy sharing. Unfortunately for me, when the “interest” fairy was handing out enthusiasm for these narratives, I must have been overlooked.
Every time I find myself amidst parents, the inevitable topic arises, and a small part of my spirit withers away.
Isn’t it challenging enough to venture out of the house with little ones in tow? With their constant demands and the never-ending diaper changes, all I want is to have a conversation that feels like adulting.
For instance, did you catch the latest episode of Grey’s Anatomy? Or have you been to that new eyebrow threading salon?
You all like coffee, right?
But no, here we go again with the birth tales.
Fantastic. We’ve known each other for precisely 10 minutes while our kids engage in parallel play at the sandbox. Maybe we should save the discussions about how epidurals are overrated for at least the third playdate? Just a thought.
I don’t fault you for sharing these stories. It’s just that… I don’t get out much. I love my kids as much as any devoted mother does, but I’m still somewhat recovering from the last delivery, and I could really use some grown-up conversation, so can we please talk about something — anything — except birth narratives?
Correction: Anything besides baby talk would be splendid.
No milestones, no discussions about pee or poop, and definitely no recounting how many hours we’re all losing sleep (though that one can be somewhat entertaining; let’s keep it). I’d even take on politics at this point.
2016, right?
Let’s skip the intricate details of how our children entered this world and instead relish the fact that we are all mothers. We’ve managed to arrive at this playground in our comfy clothes, sporting sunglasses and messy buns while gulping down coffee. Clearly, we’ve all journeyed through the miracle of childbirth in one way or another.
Cool? Got it.
Let’s move past those captivating journeys, and instead, embrace the reality that we are exhausted and there are a million other topics to explore right now.
For example, did you hear that Target might start serving wine? Just throwing that out there…
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