I was fortunate to have a close friend, Rachel, who was also expecting at the same time as me. Not only was she pregnant, but she was the type of person who dove deep into research, leaving me free to binge-watch reruns of my favorite shows. While I lounged around, Rachel tackled the tough decisions about motherhood.
Which OB-GYN Should I Choose?
Rachel meticulously sifted through online reviews and investigated the best NICU facilities linked to various doctors before settling on hers. I simply asked for her doctor’s contact information and booked an appointment that week.
What Stroller Should I Purchase?
Rachel attended a new parents’ expo, tried out the newest models, and even stopped strangers to ask about their strollers. I just copied her choice onto my registry.
Which Diapers Are the Most Absorbent?
Rachel signed up for discount deals, compared diaper types on the American Academy of Pediatrics website, and might have even done some testing herself.
When it was time to find a birthing class, I instinctively relied on her recommendations. What I overlooked was how differently we approached childbirth. Rachel was all about natural delivery and had even explored childbirth hypnosis (which, frankly, sounded like something out of a sci-fi movie to me). I was still clinging to the hope of some magical escape route from the delivery room.
The Class Experience
The class met once a week for six weeks, run by a doula. In hindsight, these should have been warning signs. I prefer straightforward instructions with no fluff. Exploring historic artwork related to birth felt utterly pointless. No one, in the heat of intense contractions, thinks, “This reminds me of that Renaissance painting of a woman in labor. How lovely—HOLY HELL THAT HURTS!”
Let me clarify: I have immense respect for doulas and the support they offer. They’re experts in comforting women through labor with techniques like breathing, relaxation, and massage. However, I couldn’t afford one, and I certainly didn’t want someone else in the room discussing physiotherapy balls while I was in the throes of labor. To gain entry into my birthing experience, you needed to be either medically essential or my partner.
During our first class, we were instructed to remove our shoes and sit on cushions scattered around the room. Couples were excited, buzzing about the life-changing experience ahead of them. When it was time to introduce ourselves, we shared our names, due dates, and biggest fears. One by one, the women voiced their fear of needing medication during labor. When it was my turn, I shared my genuine fear—given the struggles I’d faced conceiving, my greatest concern was that something might happen to my baby. My answer didn’t win me any popularity points.
Afterward, we split into ‘girls’ and ‘boys.’ My husband, Alex, looked at me wide-eyed when we were separated. “If they make us do trust falls, I’m out,” he whispered.
In our separate groups, we talked about baby genders (if known), delivery locations, and birthing plans. The other women had carefully crafted plans outlining every detail, while I simply said my plan was to get the baby out. While the other women stared at me, my doctor was thrilled when I shared my straightforward approach, thanking me for being open-minded about the unpredictability of childbirth.
When we reunited with our partners, the instructor demonstrated what labor might look like. She exaggeratedly breathed and got into an awkward downward-facing dog position, writhing in a way that felt uncomfortable to watch. It was as if we were all spectators at a bizarre performance.
Then came the lecture on placentas. We learned that you could take it home, dry it out, and create art with it. The thought of serving placenta lasagna at Thanksgiving flashed through my mind—what a conversation starter that would be!
Next, we watched a video of women giving birth, all accompanied by soothing music. As I turned to Alex, I jokingly suggested, “Maybe we just need a flutist instead of a doula.” His laughter attracted disapproving looks from the group.
By the second class, I was hoping to learn about labor processes and when to head to the hospital. Instead, we discussed placenta-related crafts. The idea of placenta jewelry or teddy bears felt absurd to me. I kept thinking, “This isn’t helping me when I go into labor!” My husband and I left feeling out of sync with the rest of the class, who seemed captivated by the discussions.
The weekend before the third class, I battled vertigo and ended up in the hospital, missing another session. I wondered if I had missed essential information on inducing labor, which would have included activities like nipple play and spicy food. While laying there, pregnant and dizzy, none of those ideas appealed to me.
When the fourth class rolled around, Alex and I exchanged glances while getting ready to leave. One of us finally asked, “Do you want to go?” To which the other replied, “Not really. Let’s just order pizza and watch TV.” And that was that—we never returned and felt relieved about our decision.
Instead, I found a quick one-hour DVD that covered everything we needed to know about labor. Frankly, I was annoyed I hadn’t opted for that sooner. For a mere twenty dollars, it provided more useful information than the five hundred I had spent on the class.
In a twist of fate, I never went into labor. I was diagnosed with cholestasis, leading to a scheduled C-section at 37 weeks. My son spent a week in the NICU, but today he is a happy and healthy six-year-old.
The Takeaway
The takeaway? Everyone has strong opinions on how childbirth should unfold—what’s right and wrong, and what works for them. Ultimately, you must do what feels right for you. Rachel went on to have a beautiful baby girl and, despite needing medication, had a labor experience she felt empowered by. However, I have no plans to eat at her house anytime soon.
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Summary
Navigating the birthing class experience can be overwhelming, especially when your approach differs from those around you. This personal account reflects on the challenges and expectations often faced by expectant parents, emphasizing the importance of finding what truly works for you.
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