How many times have we heard a woman say “oh, I’ve given birth, I have no shame.”
It’s true, right? I mean really, once a person has gotten thatclose to your vagina and helped a human, or just watched a human come out of it, there really is nothing else left to the imagination right? No. There really is nothing else that could put you out of your comfort zone anymore.
So under the umbrella of this topic I have two stories that brought me personally WAY out of my comfort zone and to new levels of shamelessness.
We’ve all had the poop conversation: “listen, you won’t care if you poop during birthing—trust me you just won’t give a shit about anything.” While there was no poop involved in my births I am sure the rest of the carnage made up for that.
Story one: So I’m at my in-laws, and my first son decides that it’s time to make his appearance. I haven’t given birth before so when my water breaks all over my in-laws’ basement floor, couch and wherever else my arse touched, I think it can’t possibly be, and of course, the hubby says (being a newbie also): “maybe you just peed yourself?”
Nope. It’s amniotic fluid friends, and now it’s part of the genetic makeup of your basement floor covering. While I wasn’t mortified at the time it happened (going into labour like that is a bit overwhelming when it’s your first, and he’s three weeks early AND your water is supposed to break in the comfort of your own home, right?) I WAS mortified when I got BACK to the in-laws later that day with my new babes. My mom and mother-in-law (bless their hearts) had cleaned it up. All the towels, the mess, and anywhere my internal fluid had leaked. It’s like there are levels of shamelessness and I’m in a video game and that sound of scoring happens “dling” – congrats Sara! Level up!
Next shameless birthing moment. I hired a doula for son number two’s arrival. Now, with his super fast arrival I barely had time to make it to the hospital let alone call my doula, who I met briefly twice. Our first and second dates weren’t all that involved! I think you’re supposed to develop some kind of relationship with this person pre-birth right? In any event, my water breaking this time didn’t embarrass me, because this time it exploded in the car so yeah, no mess for anyone else to clean up. But although we were speeding to the hospital and I was screaming the whole way, I managed to get in a text to the doula “it’s time—get there asap.” I still really thought she was going to like, hold my hand and help me have a more “controlled” birth this time round.
Nope. Not even close. There is a moment post-birth and pre-when anyone has done anything (the baby is out of you, people are scurrying around and there is just general chaos) and you and your lady bits are literally spread eagle on the hospital bed, and in my case they hadn’t assessed my damage level yet. So he popped out, and there I was, waiting on next steps. Vag to the world.
That’s when my doula walks in the door (at the end of my feet) and I am quite sure that I don’t look anywhere close to the same as I did when we met the other times. ‘Oh hi, lady doula, there you are. Thanks for coming, yes, he’s already here, no I don’t even have any stitches yet!”
We never got to hang, or work through the birth—just hey, how are ya, and oh yeah – there’s an image that will burn in your imagination forever!
This didn’t bother me—I was up top with all my just-gave-birth bliss!
Shame? Ha. Nope. Never again.