home birth terrified me

that's why i did it

Some of you were here in August when we had a baby at home. I’m still processing what it means and I know the story will emerge in layers. But there has been one, undeniable shift: I’m not good anymore.

Joaquín Sorolla y Bastida - Madre

…but when l was

Our other three boys were born at a New York City hospital, delivered by one of the finest OBGYNs in Manhattan (read: doesn’t take insurance; Picasso in the entry hall).

For the first, I made clear I wanted a birth without pain medicine or interventions. I also wanted to walk around during labor, maybe bounce on a ball.

“But let me get this straight,” Doctor said. “You want a healthy baby? And whatever it takes?” His tone admonished me not to put my preferences above the baby’s wellbeing. Oh I’m a good patient! I wanted to shout. Don’t cast me out! Gimme that healthy baby. “Of course… whatever it takes,” I said.

At the start of each labor, there were various emergencies that necessitated me being laid on a bed, injected and sliced front to back. After my births, I couldn’t walk because my legs were jelly; I couldn’t stand for nearly two weeks without feeling like my insides would burst the stitching.

But I calmed myself. I had a healthy baby. And Doctor made it so. You told him you would choose this, remember?