So, to pass the time at work I thought, what better way than to watch some horrifying childbirth videos! I decided to go to youtube, type it in, and sneak a peek at what’s to come.
And truthfully, I really think the whole, “It’s sooo gross,” thing is overdone. Probably because in this instance, it’s me being the gross one! Then again, I've always been fascinated by disgusting things, and being grossed out is kind of fun for me - as people popping pimples, bloody scratches, what it looks like to have a parasite in you, ect. Birth kind of falls into that category - gross, disgusting, but oddly fascinating.
Yet I suppose, when you spend a whole nine months carrying around someone, feeling pretty then incredibly fat, restricted from doing this or that, experiencing the slow progress of pains and swelling veins , a small period of time spent in the complete disarray of unpleasant seems, well kind of like a single star amongst the billions. My mom used to tell me that whenever I was in trouble to think of the worst thing I’ve ever been trough. Not physically painful, mind you (as many women will say – childbirth is the worst pain!), but rather the worst kind of pain. The pain of life, of losing out, of the stuff we learn as kids to prepare us for adulthood. My mother would tell me to think back on those times, and remember that I got through those, so I can get through this as well. Of course, I custom tailored her serene wisdom to fit my personality, and I usually say something crass like, “Just remember, no matter how much you wish you could die, that a car would randomly hit you or a heart attack will strike, you’re probably not going to die, so you might as well suck it up and keep going.”
So when I think about actually having the baby, I think that, of my many years… it will soon seem like a small speck, a series of blurry photographs, hardly recognizable in the mind. Of course, such an occasion will always be marked as precious, but over time I think reality gives way to memory, which is never very reliable. Our recollections become tainted by the emotions we felt at the time. If overall, having a baby was stressful and miserable, the memory will become an exaggerated version of those feelings. We will recall the worst of events.. same with feelings of joy and happiness.
Anyway, to put it simply, I’m not really as worried as I thought I would be about the actual process of delivering. Oh I’m certain I will feel anxious when the time comes. I love having control and the loss of it will not be pleasant. But the actual bodily process isn’t too dramatic for me. After all, when you sit back and realize that hey, that’s how you were born, and the person before you, and the person next to you, and your friend (hey, C-sections are fairly strange looking to some as well)… it starts to lose its mystery.
Now, on that note.. do I think males should be as understanding? No way. I completely empathize with men who think that sort of sight might cause emotional damage. It’s not a chance I’d recommend taking if they have any reservations about it at all. I suppose that’s why it’s called a “woman thing” and why early on women did not even allow men into the same room.
It’s strange, but at times I do feel like my life has well prepared me for this future. Perhaps I was not entirely ready for it, but looking back on some of the things I’ve been through. I recall those “worst of times.” I remember scrubbing fecal cat matter out of the carpet, on my hands and knees with gloves. Honestly, a bit of baby poop doesn’t scare me at all. I remember living in filth, thinking each day that if I could just start with what was in front of me and work my way out that eventually it would be done. Probably why I’m such a neat freak now, on a side note! I remember being at the end of my rope, several times over in my early twenties, and now even though it has only been a few years later, those times seem so distant and yet I have grown so very much.
I am so grateful I never got pregnant when I was younger. What a dreadful time it would be! Looking back, I realize that having made all the mistakes I did, being in those moments when I thought I should just die, then having to own up and pick up the pieces of my life… it made me a solid person, for better or worse. But I have those experiences. I’m not a nineteen year old who is going to try to raise a baby while still making those kinds of mistakes to figure out who I am. I’m certainly in a much better place now, and I am certain if I keep on this track I can only become stronger.
On a side note, it’s funny to me that so many women talk about pregnancy dreams and say that they dream about an alien. Supposedly that’s natural because the thought of what’s growing inside you can make you feel like there’s a little monster in you. Probably also helps to tie into the fear and grossness of childbirth.
However, what about those who are like me? We dream about the opposite. I dream about myself being the monster, about trying to explain to my pretty little son about the monster I am, or that I am running away from crazy religious fanatics, trying to protect him because they want to kill myself and him. No, I do not dream about strange creatures in me or giving birth to a monster. I dream that I am the creature, and that my own kid might not even understand.
And then there was Vince. Who, by the way, has been incredibly good to me. I should make mention of last night. I sleep on the “inside” of the bed, meaning I am closest to the wall. Lately it has begun to pose a problem, as my acrobatics aren’t as smooth when I’m in the midst of sleeping. In other words, when I have to get up in the middle of the night, several times over, I perform a series of incredibly awesome maneuvers to bounce over him! Well, like growing older, suddenly the body seems different little by little. Tasks involving coordination and balance when I’m half asleep just aren’t what they used to be. I actually ended up crashing into the fan by our bed, which is lacking the over and so the plastic blades made quite a commotion against my skin.
He asked if I was alright, having been stirred from his sleep, and when I told him I was alright, I figured he would promptly go back to sleep. I reemerged from the bathroom just a few moments later, and didn’t spy him right away on the bed.
It took me a moment, and then I saw he had moved to my side, and just as I noticed this he wearily admitted that he was going to switch with me for the evening. Giving up his prized side of the bed was quite nice… I think I felt quite enamored, mainly because I know how cocky he tends to be about having his side of the bed.
Tomorrow evening he leaves for his own personal vacation. I imagine I will miss him quite a bit, although I have decided to keep myself occupied by being lazy, eating badly, and watching horror movies! On Thursday I have an appointment to finally have my shot… the one reason I have committed myself so fervently to the doctor. I actually missed my appointment this morning, for some reason having thought it was tomorrow. Well, at least I will be able to relax tonight with Vincent and not have to feel pressured to wake up so early.
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