About that VBAC

Mommy amnesia.

They say that's one of the things that allows for the procreation of the human race. That women forget what childbirth (and the newborn days) are like, and that's the only reason anyone ever has more than one child.

And yet here I am, 16 (or fewer!!) weeks away from giving birth for the second time, and I have only, can only, forget one of the two. The newborn days are now a happy blur. I remember my sweet, sleeping daughter. In my mind's eye, I see her playing happily on her play mat, or sitting in her swing, staring wide-eyed at the big, bright window. I've forgotten the nights we couldn't get her to sleep, the crying, the tears and frustration over her feeding and weight gain.

Mommy amnesia--1; newborn days--0.

But like an epidural that only works on half your body, the magical mommy amnesia really isn't doing a thing to numb the pain and memories of the other.

I remember the excitement, the happiness, the determination and hope we felt when I went into active labor. I remember the 24 hours I labored. I remember walking six miles that day, around and around and around the L&D floor at the hospital, with my husband beside me every step of the way. I remember the onset, the gradual seeping in of the disappointment, the confusion, and eventually the fear that things weren't happening the way they were supposed to. I remember everything we tried. Every concession we made. I remember the changing shifts, the changing goals, the change from walking to laboring in bed when we moved on to pitocin and eventually an epidural. I remember the gentle look on my doctor's face as he tried to get me to understand that it wasn't working, that my baby wasn't descending, that it wasn't going to happen. I remember how exhausted I felt. How defeated. I remember them increasing my drugs and being wheeled into the operating room. I remember throwing up, and how calm the anesthesiologist at my head was, how supportive. I remember the surgery the way I remember a vivid dream--I can see the plot in my mind, but it's all hazy. Clouded. Muted. I know they held her up for me to look at, but I had a hard time focusing my eyes. I had been awake, in active labor, for 24 hours, had eaten nothing, and had walked six miles. My body was spent. I remember only bits and pieces of afterward, of my family coming to visit me in the recovery room, of me seeing pictures of my daughter on my husband's camera. Only bits and pieces of the next day, with friends and visitors streaming in and out. I remember the slow sinking feeling that took over me in the hospital, the feeling of being trapped, of not really believing the outside world existed anymore. I remember my difficult recovery at home--not physically, but mentally and emotionally. How I felt like my body had failed. How embarrassed I felt about what I had allowed to happen. How much I second guessed every decision we made in the course of that day.

How determined I became to have a VBAC with my next child.

I remember it all.

And now here I am. I am "with my next child." It's time to make the plans, to prepare ourselves. And for the last 16 months, all I've thought about is VBAC-VBAC-VBAC. It's written on my chart. The websites are bookmarked on my computer. My friends and family know that's what I want.

So why now, when the moment is close, am I struggling with such fear?

It's because I can remember. Because I do remember.

Because from where I stand, I am heading into a challenge I've already failed at once. And now I know how controlled and predictable a c-section can be. How safe. How easy the physical recovery can be. And now I know how dangerous a vaginal delivery can be, how many things can go wrong, so far above and beyond what happened to me. Terms like "uterine rupture" float in my head, and I know that has to be part of my decision process. I don't even eat lunch meat while pregnant because of the minuscule risks associated with it; why on earth would I willingly engage in something that has a 1 in 100 chance of REALLY BAD THINGS for me and my baby?

Why was it so important to me to have a vaginal delivery? I remember that it was important. I remember the long, difficult process I went through getting over the fact that it had been taken from me, and the determination with which I set my sites on my second chance at success. But why?

For my first pregnancy, my husband and I took a Bradley class. We read and practiced and practiced and read. And it was all really useful stuff for the first 22 hours of that day. But in the end? When it counted? Not so much.

We obviously aren't paying for another class like that this time around. Not spending another 8 weeks in late night classes while paying for a sitter for baby girl, when there's the very real chance it won't matter this time, either. But we have to do something to prepare, right? Something to prepare for this birth, this VBAC I set my sights on so long ago? We borrowed a friend's hypnobabies program and have been working through it together at home. A lot of it resonates. A lot of it doesn't. And a lot of it taunts me, provokes that bitter voice in the back of my mind to scoff, "Easy?!?! Childbirth is easy??? Those naive fucks."

It tells me I'm supposed to only allow in the positive messages surrounding childbirth, and reject the negative ones, but what happens when the negative ones come from within? From my own memories?

At this point, I'm still shooting for the VBAC. But if you asked me to tell you why, right now, today, my answer may very well be, "Because it was something I wanted. Something that was important to me." Like that. All in the past tense.

Because I know it was important to me. Back when fear and memories weren't swelling within me.

And I don't make life decisions based on fear, remember?

So right now, VBAC it is. I might have to do some more research on the pros of a VBAC to bolster that side of the chart a bit more. I might have to stop and really figure out the answer to "why?" Not my answer from back then, but my answer for right now. I might have to record my own affirmations that include nothing about the ease and comfort of childbirth, affirmations that speak more to what is possible than what should be.

Because in birth, there is no should. There is only could. It's not about what I'm entitled to, what I deserve as a woman, as a mother. It's about the passage of my child into the world, safely. And there are many, many ways that could happen.

Right?