Close-up

Theo's birth day

Ida's birth day

Lars's birth day

Hanging out in bed for 2 days straight has given me ample time for thinking ("a dangerous pastime" "I know")(children of the '90s? anyone?). In particular last night I was thinking about letting go. I have 3 somewhat different childbirth experiences to reminisce about and they all had to do with letting go--of my expectations, worries, tension. In all 3 experiences but particularly the last 2, I was most successful when I was able to completely forget everything except for what was going on at the moment.

Not too many people aside from midwives, nurses, doctors, and husbands have the...shall we say, unique opportunity...of witnessing another person who has completely let go in that way. I was thinking on Sunday night that during labor and birth, unlike the rest of my life, I have zero inhibitions about how I act or look. None. I didn't glance in a mirror at all for most of Sunday and didn't discover (or care) until later that I had raccoon eyes and old-lady hair. I said exactly what I was thinking as soon as I thought it--or as soon as I could catch my breath to say it. Then there's the whole issue of involuntary movements. It's so funny how much a woman who is completely in labor can be like a tiny child. The thing I probably said the most throughout this labor was "Help me. I need you!"

My favorite book about childbirth is Birthing from Within by Pam England. I didn't discover this book until I was pregnant with Ida--my pregnancy with Theo was marked by books like HypnoBirthing by Marie Mongan, which is a lovely concept but just didn't work for me. Calling contractions "surges" and visualizing blue satin ribbons on a cloud of strawberry mist did absolutely nothing for me when it came to getting through pain and fear. But what did help was the line that I think sums up Pam England's book:

Labor is hard work--it hurts--and you can do it.

I think that's true of everything that's difficult in life. Facing the facts that (a) something is hard and (b) I can do it, works so much better for me than saying it's not as hard as it is, or saying that I can't do it. And I also think that letting go of how I think something is supposed to look or sound or feel, is the fastest way to "do it." During Ida's labor I was able to let go a lot more easily than during Lars's labor or Theo's, and I'm not sure why. Maybe it was an easier labor than the other two. Maybe I was better prepared or more relaxed. I don't know. It's a distinct possibility that because I wrote Lars's birth story the day after he was born, whereas I wrote Theo's and Ida's months later, I just can't compare them objectively.

I was thinking about these things anyway but in looking over the pictures from Lars's birth (which I stand by as unflattering, though certainly not horrifying :), I thought also about how we recount events. If you read "mommy blogs" very often you might remember reading posts in the past year or so either complaining about how mommy blogs try to make everything look perfect, or defending a mom's right to present the rosy side of life. I think it's important to do both. Who wants to see a blog full of bedhead and acne and poop, even though everyone deals with those things? I would personally love to be able to put up a gorgeous, sanitized picture of myself and Lars within seconds after birth. I remember one of the things I felt I had missed out on in Theo's C-section was:

Although all I "really" wanted was for both of us to be safe and healthy (standard disclaimer), I also really, really wanted to know that I could bear him myself—actually "give birth." I wanted a culminating experience to these nine months that I would feel and never forget. You know, the kind where you feel that last push and the heavens open and your husband documents forever on film your sweaty, tearful, exultant face when you first meet your sweet little child. I desperately wanted it, in fact.

I find it telling that much of what I felt I missed out on in Theo's birth, I somehow thought could be captured in a picture. If you talk to any mom who is sufficiently removed in years from childbirth they will tell you that those moments are trivial compared to the child's life and the mother-child relationship, and that the memories eventually fade and are replaced by more momentous things. I think that is true. At the same time I think those are important moments. What isn't necessarily important, though, is whether the moments looked or sounded a certain way. They just need to look or sound the best way to live on in your memory.

I have no videos of any of my kids emerging into the world, certainly nothing I could share with others or post on a blog, but I don't think I will ever forget how I felt when those moments happened--the gratitude, emotion, exhaustion. I guess all I have to share with others are my own written memories and pictures. They are flawed in that they aren't a perfect representation of what "actually" happened--they can't convey all the feelings and thoughts and sounds and images that swirl around in my memory and Matt's, and they can't tell you an outsider's perspective either.

Those memories, combined with memories of things like the way Theo's face looks when he asks for a hug or the way Ida lisps when she says certain words, I can still package up in my mind and sift through whenever I want. Even if I can't put them in a color-saturated montage for my blog. I'm definitely OK with that. Besides, in order to present a real memory of my babies I would also have to include the times I completely lost it or the times I said in complete seriousness, "OK guys you are REALLY bugging me, could you just give Mommy some space for a minute?" or the times I was utterly, brattily rude to Matt just because I knew it wouldn't chase him away. Piles of laundry and dirty dishes, raccoon eyes and old-lady hair, bedhead and acne and poop and "the ugly cry" would all have to be included too. Unbearably sad times, heartbreaking times of loss, times we were giddy with joy, times we said "Help me. I need you"--all included no matter how they looked.

Anyway. Thanks for listening in to my thoughts. Time to get back to my oh-so-glamorous recovery! Maybe I'll be walking normally by the next time you see me. I hope so.