Updated: April 4, 2020
Originally Published: April 11, 2018
I was lucky enough to have a close friend, Lisa, who was expecting at the same time I was. Not only was she pregnant, but she also dove deep into research on every aspect of motherhood. This meant I could avoid overthinking essential decisions and simply follow her lead while lounging on the couch, binge-watching reruns of Friends.
Which obstetrician should I choose? Lisa spent hours poring over online reviews, analyzing the best neonatal intensive care units linked to various doctors, and ultimately selected her practitioner. I simply asked for her doctor’s contact and booked an appointment the same week.
What stroller should I buy? Lisa attended a parenting expo, sampled various models, compared safety ratings, and even approached strangers with strollers to ask for their opinions. When she registered for one, I promptly added it to my own list.
Which diapers are the most effective? Lisa subscribed to a diaper discount service, reviewed options against cloth alternatives on the American Academy of Pediatrics website, and might have even tested them firsthand.
When it came time to find a birthing class, I relied on her insights once more, but I overlooked one significant difference in our perspectives. Lisa was keen on natural childbirth and even explored hypnosis to ease labor pains. In contrast, I was still searching for any possible way to avoid being present during the birth itself.
The class was scheduled for six weeks, one evening per week, and was led by a doula. Both aspects should have raised a red flag for me. I prefer straightforward, no-nonsense information. The class’s focus on historical art depicting birth felt completely irrelevant. No one in the throes of a contraction has ever thought, “This reminds me of that ancient mural of a woman in labor. How beautiful—OW!”
I have immense respect for doulas and their dedication to supporting women through labor. They possess knowledge of pain relief techniques, including breathing, relaxation, and massage. However, the idea of having someone present who wasn’t my partner felt unnecessary. If I’m uncomfortable with my own presence in the room, I certainly didn’t want someone else discussing the merits of using a birthing ball.
During the first class, we were instructed to remove our shoes and sit on cushions scattered around the room. Couples were visibly excited, eager to learn about this pivotal moment in their lives.
As we introduced ourselves, we shared our due dates and biggest fears. One by one, the women expressed their concern about needing medication during labor. When it was my turn, given my struggles to conceive, I voiced my fear that something might happen to my unborn child. My honesty didn’t go over well; I felt like a downer.
Shortly after, we split into groups by gender. My husband, Tom, looked worried during the separation and whispered, “If we do trust falls, I’m out.”
After more introductions, we discussed the gender of our babies, where we would be delivering, and our birth plans. The other women had pages of detailed preferences about their labor experiences, what to pack for the hospital, and the music they would like to hear. When my turn came, I foolishly stated my birth plan was simply to get the baby out. The other women seemed less than impressed, but my doctor appreciated my straightforwardness, saying it showed I understood the unpredictable nature of childbirth.
When we reconvened with our partners, our instructor demonstrated labor by breathing dramatically and contorting herself into a rather awkward position. The entire room was silent, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or applaud. It was a strange spectacle, and we all exchanged uncomfortable glances, reminiscent of a bizarre scene from a movie.
Next, the instructor launched into a lengthy discussion about the uses of the placenta. I learned that you could take it home, dry it, and make art with it or even consume it in capsule form to combat postpartum depression. The idea of turning it into Thanksgiving stuffing did cross my mind, but I quickly dismissed it.
We watched a video featuring several women delivering with the aid of a doula, all while serene music played in the background. The laboring women looked peaceful, and I turned to Tom, saying, “Maybe we don’t need a doula; perhaps we need a flutist instead.” For the third time that evening, we received disapproving looks.
By the second class, I hoped we would finally discuss labor specifics, what contractions felt like, and when to head to the hospital. Instead, we continued to explore the wonders of the placenta. I began to lose my patience, thinking, “None of this is going to help me when I go into labor!”
The weekend before the third class, I experienced severe vertigo and ended up in the hospital. When we missed the class, we later learned they covered techniques for inducing labor, like nipple stimulation and spicy foods—none of which seemed appealing while I was bedridden.
When it was time for the fourth class, I felt better, but as Tom and I prepared to leave, we both expressed hesitation. “Do we really want to go?” one of us mused. “Not really. I’d rather order pizza and watch TV,” the other replied. And that settled it; we never returned and had no regrets.
I eventually found a straightforward DVD that condensed all the necessary information into an hour, a purchase I now wished I’d made sooner. For just twenty dollars, it educated me on labor signs, the experience of water breaking, when to call my doctor, and the differences between a spinal and an epidural.
Ironically, I never went into labor. I was diagnosed with cholestasis, leading to a scheduled C-section at 37 weeks. My son required a brief NICU stay, but now he’s a healthy, energetic six-year-old.
The moral of the story? Everyone has strong opinions on childbirth, what’s best, and what’s not. Ultimately, it’s crucial to do what feels right for you. Lisa went on to have a beautiful baby girl and though she did use medication, she had a labor experience she was proud of. That said, I’m not rushing to have dinner at her place anytime soon.
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Summary
I navigated my pregnancy journey relying heavily on a friend’s meticulous research, only to find that our perspectives on childbirth differed significantly. My experience in a birthing class left me feeling out of place and frustrated, ultimately leading me to opt for a more straightforward informational approach. After an unexpected C-section, I learned that each birth story is unique, and it’s essential to follow what feels right for you.
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