I fought so hard for Caleb. I planned the kind of birth I felt would be best for him, and because of my choices I endured many raised eyebrows and questions that doubled as insults. I don’t even pretend to know what was said when I wasn’t around. I think what many people didn’t know was the extent to which my whole heart was in Caleb’s birth plans. Sarah’s birth destroyed me—ruthlessly, unmercifully annihilated anything that I had ever been, and Sarah suffered for that. Still suffers for that, though it is a work in progress. I was not going to just lie down and let that happen to Caleb. I just wasn’t.
Contrary to popular belief, I did not want what some homebirth opponents call a “spa birth”. I wasn’t planning to give birth in a dim, candle-lit room with soft music in the background. I had no illusions of an easy, pain-free birth. I had every thought and expectation that it would be the most painful, scary, intense thing I had ever done. And that it would be safe.
Caleb: Faithful, Bold
Joshua: Jehovah saves
Amen, and amen.
This post is lovingly, gratefully dedicated to Vicki Taylor, L.M., C.P.M., without whom I would still be that scared little girl sitting in a corner crying over her scar.