Women Are Strong

This week I had to go to the dentist to get a crown. Now, this particular cavity is in a tooth that has already been filled and thus I couldn’t just have a regular filling, I had to get a crown. This might give you an idea of what kind of teeth I have… TERRIBLE ones. I think every molar is filled (but to be honest I’ve lost count so I can’t be certain) and I’ve had my share of root canals for someone still in their twenties! AND I HATE DENTAL WORK!!! I mean I really, really hate it. The sound/taste/smell of someone drilling a hole in your mouth is just terrible! I thought it was the toughest thing in the world…

Until childbirth.

Having gone through 66 hours of labor eight months ago really put things in a different perspective.

We waited four years into marriage to have Ava and by the time she was on her way we were really ready. I was super excited at the prospect of being a mother and was just about as thankful as could be that we had been able to get pregnant without any complications like so many of our friends. By the time she was term, we were ready when she was. But she just wasn’t.

It all began with us finding out at 37 weeks that she (and we didn’t know she was a she at the time, but should have figured with the tough time she gave us!) was breech. (Perhaps it began before this really, with the four solid months of gut wrenching morning sickness. But I regress.) We opted to go in for a procedure in which they pushed (really, really hard!) on my stomach and flipped her head down. And it worked… on the second try.

Then came labor day. Or should I say the THREE DAYS OF LABOR. I started to have regular contractions Tuesday evening around 6:00 and they stayed irregularly timed - but no longer than 20 minutes apart - until Friday morning at 11:27 when she finally arrived. My husband and I had done everything we could to prepare to have a “natural birth” (read: no epidural); but alas after 58 hours and at 8 ½ centimeters, I called uncle (or should I say the anesthesiologist).

However, reflecting on our birth story, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. Working through contraction after contraction with my husband, who never left my side, was an amazing experience and one that brought us to know each other more intimately. While I wanted to forgo pain medication, I now know (personally) the beauty of modern medicine. Our story was right for us, and in the end, we had all that really mattered: a healthy, beautiful baby girl (with lots of hair to boot!) :)

Many of you have similar (or dissimilar) stories, but one common thread runs through them all: you carried and nurtured a life for 40 long weeks and then, amazingly, delivered (whether it be via a whole in your stomach or by stretching down there to 10 centimeters!) a living, breathing human being about the size of a melon! I’m no feminist, but I really, really don’t think that any guys would be up for that!

I’ll end with a quote by Laura Stavoe Harm, which I read over many times in a Lamaze book about this time last year:

We have a secret in our culture, and it’s not that birth is painful. It’s that women are strong.

Now I’m off to the dentist… piece of cake…