It was wonderful being pregnant. It is the only time in your life that you can gain 30 pounds and still get smiled at approvingly, even by strangers. I used to wonder why everyone was so nice to me, especially women. Women I barely knew dropped off old baby clothes and frozen casseroles, gave advice and support. People offered me their seats and carried my heavy packages.
I don’t wonder anymore.
Now that I’ve been through labor and delivery, I understand. The quiet camaraderie between mothers and the mysterious chivalry of strangers should have aroused more suspicion in me. I should have asked more questions about childbirth, I should have paid more attention to words like episiotomy and epidural and found out what happened after your water breaks and you frantically drive to the hospital or summon your midwife. I should have read fewer books about being pregnant and more books about giving birth.
But there is precious little information out there about the birth itself, and now I know why: nobody wants to scare women out of procreating and risk the diminution of the human race,
Because the truth is that childbirth is the most excruciatingly painful, horrific and humbling experience imaginable. Scratch that — it is unimaginable. There is no way to truly prepare for childbirth, but I believe that blogs like this and more open dialogue can help.
So no more lies. There is no Santa Claus, those jeans do make you look fat, and babies are too big to fit through a cervix. Much too big.
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