Some people meticulously plan for childbirth—selecting meaningful songs, writing uplifting notes, and carefully preparing their hospital bags. I was not among them.
Many expectant parents focus on their baby throughout labor, drawing strength and motivation from the thought of meeting their little one. They envision their baby’s adorable face and tiny fingers as they bring them into the world. I was not one of those people.
While I did hire a doula and pack a few items, I didn’t truly prepare for the experience of giving birth. In fact, when the day came, I hardly remembered I would be meeting my daughter.
Truthfully, I don’t believe I have a distinct “style” when it comes to my wardrobe, home décor, or appearance. If I did, it would be straightforward and uncomplicated. I expected my childbirth experience to be similar—nothing extravagant, no chants, no hypnosis, and no birthing pool. The only thing I wanted to avoid was a C-section. Ironically, that’s precisely what happened.
I anticipated delivering in a hospital, most likely with some pain relief. However, at 37 weeks, I learned my baby was in a breech position. After a somewhat traumatic attempt to turn her (known as an external cephalic version), I had to schedule a C-section.
As the surgery date approached, I became emotionally detached. My mind went into survival mode, leaving me feeling numb. Instead of focusing on the fact that I would soon bring home a baby, I fixated on preparing for post-surgery life. On an intellectual level, I understood I was about to become a mother, but emotionally, I couldn’t grasp it. All I could think about was the surgery.
Yes, the surgery.
To me, it was not about giving birth; it was a surgical procedure that involved a lengthy recovery. I didn’t use the language of childbirth. My husband expressed his eagerness to meet our daughter, and while I echoed his sentiments, I felt no real connection. Deep down, I was terrified, but admitting it seemed too daunting.
I wasn’t ignorant about childbirth. With eight years of experience in women’s health, I understood the physical aspects of pregnancy, labor, and recovery. Yet, nothing prepared me for the emotional toll it would take. It was an unknown territory that left me feeling anxious.
On the morning of my C-section, I recall sitting on the couch, counting down the minutes until we had to leave for the hospital, just waiting. Waiting for it to be over. Waiting for the pain. Waiting for relief.
In the operating room, I engaged in light-hearted banter with the medical staff, asking questions about everything except the surgery itself. They laughed along, but I wondered if they could see through my façade of calmness to the fear beneath. As I lay on the table, I chatted with my doula and husband but barely registered their responses. My mind was elsewhere, distracted by the beeping machines and the sterile ceiling tiles overhead.
And then, my daughter was born.
The surgeon announced, “Congratulations!” as she lifted a tiny, squirming, and crying baby above the screen that shielded my view of the procedure. I glanced at my newborn in disbelief and turned to my doula, exclaiming, “This is weird.” Then, I fell back into my cycle of questions. Just minutes later, my baby was placed on my chest.
In that instant, everything became real. Once her warm body connected with mine, it hit me: she was my baby, and I had just given birth. This was real. This surgery was indeed a birth. As her soft skin touched mine, my heart melted. In that sterile room, I held the warmest, sweetest little being—my baby.
I now understand that by scheduling my C-section, I also chose my baby’s birthday. How wonderful and wild is that? Sure, my mind was busy surviving the surgery, but I did give birth. I made it through, and I received my reward. Some women find empowerment and excitement in the birth experience, and that’s fantastic. Others, like me, get through it so they can embrace the next chapter of their lives. Both experiences are valid and worthy.
Yes, I carry the scar of a post-C-section warrior. Yes, I feel accomplished because it’s over, and I survived. But I didn’t feel that way in the moment, and that’s perfectly fine. If your birth story isn’t magical or if you didn’t focus on your baby during labor, remember: you don’t need to adore the birthing process to love your child.
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Summary:
The author reflects on their unpreparedness for childbirth, focusing more on the surgery aspect than the emotional connection to their baby. Through the experience of a C-section, they come to realize that the act of giving birth is valid regardless of the feelings surrounding it. The piece emphasizes that love for a child does not hinge on the nature of the birth experience.
Keyphrase: C-section birth experience
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