I love those moments when progress comes. Suddenly my husband smells better, I actually have some cravings, and I can eat my own cooking. It feels like a miracle! My figure has more visibly changed. The midwife’s best guess at this point is a girl, which means that the arguments over names may commence. We are now entering the fun stage. And of course, I love to talk about it, with my mother, other relatives, my friends with kids, the women at work or church, or anyone who’s interested. I like to hear their stories and advice. How else am I going to find out the million and one little tips and tricks that have been discovered? I’d never figure it all out on my own. One fun surprise has been that there are three other women I know who are due within two weeks of me in either direction. It’s nice to get a note saying ‘do you ever get sick of being hungry? I feel like all I do is eat,’ and to know that neither of us is alone in the craziness.

In the middle of all this sharing, I’m also discovering some great ways to kill a good conversation. If you’d ever like to do the same, I’ve found the following choices most effective:

“Yeah, I know ACOG doesn’t recommend induction before 39 weeks.”

“I won’t say I’d never have an epidural, but I wouldn’t touch the Pitocin unless someone’s life absolutely depended on it. See, Pitocin
is a synthetic form of…”

“I think I’m going to use hypnosis.”

Or any sentence containing perineal massage, placental encapsulation, informed refusal, etc. It can be kind of lonely, to differ from the local “norm” in my opinions and choices. I don’t have much to say when the stories start, and I don’t see that changing much even after giving birth. No worries. I’m fine with where I am, who I’m with, and what I see. I know essentially the direction I am headed in, and while I can’t see all that’s coming, I know where I can turn when it does. As long as baby and I stay healthy, I don’t have many lasting reservations about anything between here and delivery.

I owe this feeling to a number of wonderful people I’ve met over the years. First is my Mom, for teaching me the value of nurturing and motherly love. I saw what she was giving as what made her beautiful, and I wanted to be the same. Families and motherhood are a God-given gift and a privilege, and one I am thankful she participated in. Now I have the chance, too!
Second: women who share their experiences. Growing up, when my mother and others would talk about pregnancy and birth, I listened, fascinated. Eventually I came to understand that there were possibilities beyond the typical hospital experience, masks, drapes, ice chips, needles, stirrups and all. Not that I found that image totally unappealing, initially. It was the price you paid for the
children you loved, and the leverage you held over them for the first couple of decades.
Third: women who serve other women. This next group I met when I signed up for a class on childbirth education and doula work offered at the community college when I lived in Salt Lake. Preston and I had just married, and decided to leave the option of a growing family open. It seemed like a good time to dive in and get prepared. I just had no idea how much I needed, what would be taught, and how it would change me. I loved everyone in the class. I loved the teachers, ‘the Kristies,’ as I called them to myself (I hope they don’t mind the mention or the nickname, but just so you know, they are two of the best). Through their wisdom and experience—Kristy Huber as a birth and postpartum doula, and Kristi Ridd-Young as a doula and midwife—I developed new perspective and a greater sense of identity. I’m sure this isn’t unusual for those they work with. They taught me how to be aware of myself, of how I and others might seek comfort, and to offer it according to another’s needs. Other valuable points: trust in the best, trust yourself, ask for the support you need, do your homework and make decisions beforehand, ask lots of questions, give everyone room to make their own choices, and sometimes all you need to offer to make a difference is a comforting hand or assuring word.

It took some stretching. I remember the struggle to write the first paper: listen to the birth story of a friend and discuss how her
rights were honored or ignored. Wait, rights? As in, you can say no, or I want something different? To a doctor or nurses face? I mean,
seriously? Most especially in that time, I realized how essential those home and community networks are for us, to have the help and support of other women as we try to find our way in that world, and into motherhood. If we want to be safest, healthiest, and best, we need each other.

Subsequently, my life has been enriched by reaching out and making new friends from the Utah Doula Association, various online groups, and even authors of books—Thank you, Penny, Henci, Ina May and company!  I hope someday to work as a doula or childbirth educator. I want to offer the gift that I found. Maybe even these public musings will be of help to someone else. Though, when it comes to my friends and others I talk to, I wonder often… If I am a woman just like all the women that I talk to, and this understanding has changed my life for the better, how far do I open my mouth now? I worry that in being too outspoken, one of us will leave the conversation feeling “judged,” or invalidated. I hate it when that happens. But if the other woman knew the statistics, and the other options, and how well her body is made to handle the challenges, would she make a different choice? I want her to have that chance. If not, that’s fine. She has her own needs and priorities, and the odds say that in the end we’ll both have healthy babies and can be good mothers who raise happy, long-lived children. But maybe she knows someone else who’ll be asking. And if I don’t say anything? It’s a hard balance to find. So I only make those comments when I’m talking about my experience. I give my favorite birth books as gifts. I share random things I learn on Facebook, just trying to spread the information—all of the things that I might have missed if other women hadn’t opened their mouths. I put my thoughts out there, just like right now, and then let be. Because I’m a part of this circle, too.