Baby Got VBAC

This week has been tough.  Not Earth-shattering horrible. Not unbearable. Not entirely miserable... but definitely tough.  I suppose having a newborn is always tough? But like childbirth- the bad memories fade (although not always completely) and soon the good ones are left like shining monuments.  I guess that's the only way we'd be crazy enough to ever do it all over again.

Between sleep deprivation, toddler/baby simultaneously orchestrated screaming, an awesome two-day mastitis-enduced fever, residual epidural back-pain, and (kind of) unpacking our across-town move, I've barely been able to scrape together a coherent sentence... much less a decent blog post.

I had planned this week to write about my experience having a VBAC delivery compared to my first birth via Csection.  But I feel like I've started this post about a thousand times... and I keep starting over.  Xander is 3 weeks 4 days old- and I've yet to record his birth story.  I just- don't know how.

This week is really a tough assignment for me.  I've written, told, summarized, detailed, and analyzed Graham's birth story about a thousand times as I've shared with friends, family, and just recorded it for my own sake... and it's been different every time.  Different parts have jumped out at me at different points of my life- different moments have meant more depending on my current thoughts and experiences.  Different things have come back to me from both births as I've recovered, and other things have already started to drift away- hopefully filed somewhere in my memory, but not readily accessible.

I didn't think much about birth with Graham. People would ask me if I was afraid and I told them the truth- I figured, it's going to happen when it happens, and there's not much good I can get done by worrying about it.  Knowing that I have anxiety- I knew it would just make things worse if I dwelt on the scary parts, so I decided to focus on my pregnancy and enjoy that sacred time of closeness.  I was blessed with an essentially perfect pregnancy, no excessive sickness or pain; so enjoying pregnancy was blissfully easy.  I felt such a sweet, close bond with the little life growing inside me.

This turned out to be an incredible tender mercy that I didn't fully appreciate until recently.  As my due date came and went, I ended up having a CSection with Graham.  Like my pregnancy- the CSection was essentially perfect.  I had no complications and Graham was born healthy and screaming at a whopping 9 pounds 4 ounces.  We learned that he was not only big- but lodged in my pelvis and sunny-side up.  (something we couldn't clearly see on the ultrasound with him so big and squished in there)  Inducing would have been a long unsuccessful process eventually leading to a CSection anyway.  We had made the right choice. But that definitely did not change the fact that the whole thing was easily the most terrifying moment of my life.

I didn't know what was going on, I was certainly not relaxed, and most importantly- I was absolutely NOT mentally prepared.  A combination of what was a tramatic experience for me, the pain medications, and feeling like I had failed to birth my child "normally"- led to difficulty trying to initially bond with my first born.  Friends and family members who had positive experiences with Csections told me how lucky I was. (...really. They told me this immediately before and after I endured the most difficult trial of my life.)

They told me I should feel grateful I didn't have to go through labor.  They made me feel like a failure for not jumping up on my feet the next day and skipping through the halls belting lullabies with my baby in my arms.  They told me how easy it was for them- and how I was never going to get better if I didn't get up.

I now know they were trying to help... but what they didn't realize is that was a real legitimate fear I had.  That I would never get better.  The pain would never go away.  I would never feel alert, energetic, and happy ever again.  I felt selfish for being concerned with my own pain and my own exhaustion.  They made me feel silly for cringing when my clothes brushed against my stomach... like I was imagining that steel-wool scraping sensation.  I can only guess that they had a higher pain tolerance, drug tolerance, or their memories of the pain of recovery must have just faded.  But no such thoughts came to me at the time.  All I could think was that I was an utter failure as a mother. Soon, I was plagued with PPD  and I found myself struggling to adjust to life in my new body, with a new baby, and with these new feelings.

When I talked to my OB at my check-up appointment, she prescribed me some Xanax and explained the "pump and dump" process. My mom came into town to help take care of the baby that first week and she filled the prescription for me.  I remember looking at the bottle- and feeling absolutely hopeless.  I couldn't birth my child properly, I couldn't bond with him properly, and now I couldn't breastfeed him properly.

I suppose somewhere in my head I logically knew this wasn't the case- but when you're full of hormones you don't exactly think logically.  You have all these feelings- and those feelings are very real.  I decided I didn't want to feel that way anymore. I didn't want to feel like I didn't have a choice. So many things were suddenly different- out of my control.  I wasn't against taking medication, but I when there was so much I suddenly had no say in, how I birthed my son, how I was feeling, I didn't want someone to take away how I fed him.  I decided not to take the Xanax.

I don't know if that was the best choice.  It took a long time for me to feel better. And it was really tough on Brandon having to help me through that time period, he had to take on a lot of the baby "duties" when I was feeling to sad or tired.  I never ended up taking the Xanax, but I never got rid of the pills either. I'm not sure why.  I told myself it was just in case- that it was easier to be "strong" knowing that I had a way "out" if I needed it.  But in reality- I think it was a reminder.  Especially after a few months when I started to feel better. A reminder of what I went through for my baby. That I earned my mother's "wings" just as much as any other mother- even if I didn't have labor pains, push him out, or immediately hold him on my chest.  I was still his mother- and my baby didn't know or care how he was born. All he knew or cared about was that I was his mama and I loved him.

When Brandon and I decided to have another baby, I was excited but also nervous.  I decided to go for a VBAC, but I kept having flashbacks and nightmares that I had to have a CSection again.  And when I wasn't terrified of surgery, I found myself dreading vaginal childbirth in a way I hadn't let myself consider the first time around.  I would wake up in the middle of the night and realize "Oh my gosh there's a baby in me and one way or another he's going to have to come out!" I knew there was no "easy" way for that to happen and I was scared.  I did NOT enjoy my pregnancy the way I had the first time. And I most certainly did not bond with my second son during pregnancy the way I had the first time.

I could write a novel on how the actual process went down.

How I researched relaxation techniques, how I came to terms with a repeat CSection literally the night before I went into labor, how I resented the people who assumed I was going to have another CSection, how I resented the people who offered me free advice on how I could be doing more to actively "fight" for a VBAC, how nervous, excited, terrified, and thrilled I was all at once when I started having real contractions and I was admitted to the hospital, how angry and scared I was when the nurse anesthetist messed up my epidural and it had to be redone, how relieved I was when the epidural kicked in and I could sleep, how shocked I was when they told me it was time to push (What? Already? Now?... Isn't this supposed to be a bigger, scarier deal?), how surprised I was with how casual and relaxed the actual birth was, how bummed I was when I wasn't able to hold him immediately even though I successfully achieved a VBAC, how surprised I was that having a vaginal delivery wasn't magically more "meaningful" than a Cesarean, how grateful and relieved I was to not be in nearly as much pain, and in the end how amazing it was that even though the births of both my sons were so completely differently- I love them both the same.

With Graham I had my bonding secured before I held him in my arms.  We had a tough time for awhile, but he is my sweet tender loving boy and even with the onset of the terrible twos I love him to bits.  With Xander, the journey was rough, but our end destination was one of joy and happiness, and like his brother, even with tear-filled sleepless nights- I love him more than my heart can stand.


Birth is a threshold between two worlds. It's an experience and an adventure unique and special
each time.  I feel blessed to have endured two separate adventures- and now whatever happens I know I can endure.

Every mama is a warrior who has fought an honorable battle by bringing a new life into this world. Putting your life on hold for someone else is one of the biggest sacrifices anyone can make.  I hope that my post can help mothers realize that  there's nothing wrong with feeling sad, feeling exhausted, and complaining every once in awhile.  No matter your circumstances- you earned your mother's wings and the only way you can go from here is up.