During my pregnancy, I was fortunate to have a close friend, Emily, who was also expecting. Not only was she pregnant, but she was also the kind of friend who left no stone unturned when it came to research. This allowed me to take a backseat, casually watching reruns of The Office while she gathered all the necessary information for our impending motherhood journey.
Which OB-GYN should I choose? Emily scoured online reviews and investigated the best NICU facilities associated with different doctors before selecting her own. I simply got her doctor’s number and scheduled my appointment for the same week.
What stroller should I buy? Emily attended a new parents’ expo where she tested the latest models, cross-checked safety reviews, and even approached strangers to inquire about their strollers. I then added her choice to my registry without a second thought.
Which diapers offer the best absorbency? Emily signed up for a diaper discount service and compared diaper types on the American Academy of Pediatrics website, possibly even testing some out herself.
So, when it came time to find a birthing class, I once again leaned on her research. However, I overlooked one crucial detail: Emily was all about natural childbirth and even considered childbirth hypnosis, which was far from my mindset. I was still searching for a way to avoid the delivery room altogether.
The class met once a week for six weeks and was led by a doula. In hindsight, both should have been red flags for me. I’m the type of person who wants straightforward answers—no fluff. The class even included a segment on historic artwork depicting childbirth, which felt completely irrelevant. No one, in the throes of a contraction, has ever exclaimed, “This reminds me of that ancient Greek painting of a woman in labor. How exquisitely painful!”
Let me clarify: I have immense respect for doulas. Their knowledge and commitment during labor are invaluable. They provide comfort through techniques like breathing, relaxation, and massage. But for me, hiring one wasn’t an option, and frankly, I didn’t want anyone in the room talking to me about physiotherapy balls. The only people I wanted present were either essential medical staff or my partner.
During the first class, we were instructed to remove our shoes and sit on cushions scattered around the room. Couples were buzzing with excitement about learning more about the most significant moment of their lives.
As we introduced ourselves—sharing our names, due dates, and biggest fears—every woman echoed the same concern: the fear of needing unnecessary medication. When it was my turn, I confessed my true fear: that something could go wrong with my baby, given the struggles I faced to conceive. My honesty seemed to kill the vibe, making me the outlier in the group.
After our introductions, we were split into “girls” and “boys.” My partner, John, shot me a panicked look as we were separated. He whispered, “If they try trust falls, I’m out.”
We shared our baby’s gender and delivery plans. While the other women presented elaborate birth plans detailing everything from music playlists to what to bring to the hospital, I simply stated my singular goal: to safely deliver my baby. It was evident that my straightforward approach was not well-received.
The instructor, however, appreciated my perspective. She remarked that my pragmatic view showed I understood the unpredictability of childbirth and was open to whatever approach was best. If only she had been in the class with me; I was clearly the “negative Nancy” among my peers.
After a dramatic demonstration of labor by our teacher, which left us all in awkward silence, she launched into a lengthy lecture about the many uses of the placenta. From taking it home to make art to encapsulating it for supposed postpartum benefits, I found myself losing patience. I imagined my mother-in-law asking about the secret ingredient in my Thanksgiving stuffing—definitely not a conversation I wanted to have.
Next, we watched a video of women giving birth, all accompanied by serene, new-age music. I turned to John and joked, “Maybe we need a flutist instead of a doula!” Yet again, we received disapproving glares.
By the second class, I was hoping we would finally discuss contractions and when to head to the hospital. Instead, we continued down the rabbit hole of placenta-related topics, including placenta jewelry and even a teddy bear made from it. At that moment, I thought, “None of this is going to help me during labor.” I longed to shout, “Just tell me what I need to know!” But my classmates seemed enamored with this irrelevant information.
After a bout of vertigo led me to a hospital stay, I missed the third class, which covered ways to induce labor—information I could’ve used. When the fourth class came around, John and I had a discussion: “Do you really want to go?” “Not really. Let’s just order pizza and watch a movie.” And just like that, we never returned and felt no regrets.
Instead, I found a one-hour DVD that covered everything we needed to know, which I watched in the comfort of my home. After this experience, I was annoyed I hadn’t opted for this earlier. The twenty dollars I spent on the DVD provided more insight into labor than the five hundred I spent on that class.
In a twist of fate, I never went into labor due to a condition called cholestasis, which resulted in a scheduled C-section at 37 weeks. Although my son spent some time in the NICU, he is now a vibrant and healthy six-year-old.
The takeaway is that everyone has their own opinions on childbirth—what works and what doesn’t. Ultimately, you must do what feels right for you. Emily had a beautiful birthing experience, even if she did end up using medication. However, I have no plans to sample her cooking anytime soon.
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In summary, I learned that every pregnancy journey is unique, and it’s vital to find the path that fits you best.