Pulling The Wool Over Our Eyes.

*Warning, this post contains some thoughts on birth that may be hard to swallow. Read at your own risk.

You know the mark of a good friend? A truly good friend? A friend you can tell anything to and have them understand, empathize and commiserate with your life issues? The ability to talk about episiotomies and vaginal tearing. Drop those two phrases in a conversation and you’ll be able to weed people out from the very start. “Hi, my name is Megan and I have a fear of vaginal tearing.” The ones that stick around will be the ones you want to keep around. And if you can’t talk about these woman fears with your closest friends, then really you ought to consider yourself alone in this world.

I’m not married and if you just met me you would probably believe that I’m not a fan of children. I like kids, just not any that would be coming out of my body in the next few years. And, the more I hear about child rearing, pregnancy, and birth the more convinced I become that this whole “wondrous bringing of life” is a big sham.

See this picture, the one right below this line? The one of the sweet, adorable baby. Yeah, that one.

It’s precious, darling and reeks of that “baby smell” that causes grandparents and strangers alike to flock and glue their noses to the top of the baby’s head. You can picture it, because that’s exactly how it happens. There truly is something about babies. BUT, what I feel many conveniently forget to mention is that having babies is anything but cute, darling or precious. I think that people omit all the gory details, because if we as women (if you’re anything like me) fully understood what it took, we’d never have kids. Therefore leaving grandparents lost and confused without any children to smell and spoil and leaving strangers without any large, pregnant bellies to grab.

Pregnancy is rough, or so I hear. There’s a little human encroaching on your lung capacity, your body swells and stretches in ways you never thought possible and your feet have the potential to grow out of all the wonderful shoes you’ve collected up to that point. Sigh. And, you know what really scares me? Stretch marks. I’ve seen the devastation and truly I don’t want an abdomen that resembles a bagel 2 years after I’m done with the whole ordeal. Oh, and a horror story frequenting my house has people growing third nipples… dude, I don’t want a third nipple. Two is more than enough for this gal.

Ok, ok, I know I being highly insensitive and terrible. But it doesn’t stop here.

The thought of birth makes me shiver and feel the urge to vomit all at the same time (gag reflex).  And who decided on the word birth. It just sounds gross. There is something about “snip”, “tear”, “spinal tap”, “mucus plug” and “catheter” that really just has me running in the opposite direction. I don’t understand how people refer to this whole disgusting process as “beautiful”. Yeah, yeah the bringing of life is pretty amazing, but let’s not over glamorize how that life gets out exactly.

I’ve had a couple friends that have had children, they’re the type of friends that shared ALL the gory details. Every single one and then more. I know more about their pregnancies and births than I’ll probably know about my own. EVER. Because now I’m going to have to adopt, or be on Valium for 9 months (except really isn’t it more like 10 months?). One of the two.

Published by Megan

I'm a marketer, cook, avid bug hater, cupcake lover, hiker, klutz, and married lady living in the great state of Colorado... My name is Megan Stecker and I'm a Colorado native. That's right, born and raised. I currently live in Denver and work in Marketing. I love what I do and watching it impact my client's business. I love to cook and bake. A good glass of wine can cure what's ailing you as long as you drink it in good company. I love the outdoors. Hiking, camping, exploring... I'm in. I have two dogs, Ollie and Duke, and I treat them like a children. My husband, friends and family mean everything to me. I also, inadvertently, find myself in the midst of disaster on a regular basis.

5 thoughts on “Pulling The Wool Over Our Eyes.

  1. Could have written this myself, about 10 years ago. Adoption was the only path to motherhood for me.

    Fast forward about 4 years to a night of too much Jaeger and Heiniken with an old, but dashing aquaintance, and wa-lah, I’m with child.

    As this pg experience is all new to me, the biggest fear I have is episiotomy. Yeah-the crotch cut.

    At the risk of sounding preachy, edu-ma-kation is key, especially in birth. It truly is a simple process, we’ve just managed to complicate it beyond measure. If you never read a book, never talked it over with gfriends, and never took a class that taught you to A) become one with your inner goddess or B) breathe, I am certain your baby would still know how to be born and your glorious body would know exactly what to do.

    Just my cynical thoughts:D

    1. I know you’re right with the whole “glorious body would know what to do” thing… and well education has to be key. But seriously… its always “look at these baby clothes”, “oh, it’s so cute”… blah blah blah. No one talks about the lady part destruction or the ol’ crotch cut. *Shiver*

  2. Just remember, whether or not you get your crotch cut is YOUR choice. Despite what they lead you to believe, you truly can say NO. Or No thank you. Or not today, or forget it. Or get your damn surgical scissors away from my lady parts… 😀

    And it is all about the end result. Not many care about the journey (gasp, such a touchy feely word, ick!) or how you get there. More and more it’s about “We’re having a boy. We’re naming him Mason Alexander. He’ll be born on March 1 at 10:00 a.m. Currently, the usound says he’s 6lbs 13 oz and 17 inches long. According to the 4D ultrasound thing-that’s-not-an-FDA-approved-technology-so-no-one-really-knows-what-effect-it-will-have-on-our-unborn-child-until-years-from-now, he looks like his great Uncle Frank on my mother’s side. This is the outfit he will wear home.”

    See how I am…cynical!!! :0

    1. You can bet your bottom dollar it will be years, YEARS before any doctor even has the chance to come close to my lady parts with any sort of surgical scissor. And then… I’ll give it some serious thought and tell him to back the hell up.

      Yeah, yeah, the end result. Having a kid that resembles your great uncle Bernard. Totally worth it… Cough, cough.

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