Things moms tell you

On a scale of “I didn’t know I was pregnant” to “let me tell you about my birth plan,” I’d like to think I fall somewhere in the middle. 

A woman I work with asked if people had started cornering me yet to tell their birth horror stories. They just need to tell someone, she laughed.

Yes. Yes, they have. Actually, they have been for years.

Whenever a good friend of mine gives birth, she usually imparts some gory detail I hadn’t heard before. Don’t worry, I’m not going to repeat them here. But at 33, I have a lot of friends with children, so quite a bit of vivid imagery is bouncing around up there in my head.

Really though, moms just want to tell you their birth stories. And why not? I am expecting it to be one of the most memorable, important days of my life. And whenever those imparted details get particularly bad, I note that many of these women have two, even three plus kids. Or they absolutely adore their only child.

As we took FIVE (yes, five) classes on birth and babies at the hospital, I learned that not everyone has gleaned all these little tidbits. From the looks on their faces, nor does everyone want to. Some people want to go into birth with relatively little prior info and just deal as it comes along. I get it. Baby has to come out, one way or another. The More You Know campaign does not cover birth.

(For instance, at one point in a birth class our nurse held up a pair of the mesh disposable underwear that the hospital supplies and yelled “wear the underwear we give you, your underwear will not work!” Make that into a PSA, NBC.)

I am a bit of a planner. I do want to know some of what might happen, so I can think about how I might respond. Ok, obsess a little about it. But ultimately, there are so many combos of good and bad that can go down. Some things I’ve learned:

Some people want drugs, pronto.

Others want to tell you that birth is not something to be afraid of, but also that drugs are evil.

Some people want to warn you about interventions at hospitals.

Others want you to know how great the mac and cheese is from the cafeteria at your hospital (this ranks among top important information, so far).

I don’t mean to make my mommy friends feel bad for sharing their stories. I have loved hearing them, and loved snuggling their babies, and some of these ladies are on my speed dial. Many of these memorable details were told to me either in incredulous confidence or out of real love and concern for other future mamas. They fall into several categories: “can you believe that our bodies do this” “people will be assholes sometimes, even to a new mom” and “it’s going to be unpleasant, but then it’s going to be ok.”

When you’re four weeks away from delivery, though, very few people talk about how nice it is to have a baby. A sweet, squalling, nice/poopy smelling baby who does adorable and disgusting things and who you love more than anything.

(I read this essay this morning, and might read it every morning until Babycakes shows up. Maybe after, too.)

I appreciate my friends’ honesty. But at this point, I just want to hear nice stories of tiny/chubby sweet babies. Because that’s the part I’m looking forward to.