Fat Free Talk Week

October 19-23 marks the 2nd annual Fat Free Talk Week; an international 5- day body activism camapign to draw attention to body image issues and the damaging impact of the ‘thin ideal’ on women in society. Please watch the following powerful video:

So I've been thinking a lot about what "fat talk" is. It may be different for everyone, certain phrases we use more often than others to describe ourselves or others. For me, the traditional "I feel fat" is one I used to use a lot. It makes absoultely no sense really because fat is not a feeling or emotion. What I was really saying was, "I feel insecure" which is what I felt a lot. I will never forget one night several years ago, it was the weekend before I married my ex husband. At that point I had starved my way down to my own "thin ideal". We had gone out with friends and were coming home, my ex husband and his brother and myself were walking up our front porch. We were laughing about something, I can't remember what, but out of no where I said, "Wait, stop, I need to ask you something" They both stopped and looked at me, "Do I look skinny?" They both cracked up laughing, and I laughed too, but I never told them that I wasn't joking. As ridiculous as the question was, it was my own fat talk, my own cry for help. I was the thinnest I had ever been, and the most insecure.

The women of Tri Delta are asking you to make an honest effort to stop the fat talk during the week of October 19-23. This goes beyond making comments about yourself, but also about other people.

Do I hear crickets chirping?

Here are some examples:

She shouldn't be wearing a 2 piece.

Ew, he has man boobs.

Is she fat or pregnant?

Holy cow, did you see her picture of Facebook? She's gained like 50 pounds since high school.

I know, I know, we're all guilty of a little crap talking now and then and we may think it's harmless. But I think the damage that is done is that it reinforces the fact that thin is better than fat. And really, isn't that the root of the problem?

I should also mention that fat talk also is also phrases like, "If I only had your thighs, I could..." or "I would give anything to have a flat tummy like yours." Talking badly about yourself or comparing yourself to others is what I consider an all out assault on your self esteem.

So for 5 days let's all try to make a change, and hopefully (fingers crossed) it will make a difference in your life and in someone else's that you tell about it. Hint, hint. Pass it on.

Go to this website to sign the pledge to end fat talk!

Love vs. Peace

This is a post I have been thinking about writing for some time now, but the topic is something I have been somewhat confused about.

I talk a lot about loving your body. I've had my own body image struggles and have tried hard to heal them. I think I've come a tremendous way and it's become my mission to help others. However, I've come to the realization that as I spew "Love your bodies, girls!" it's a much bigger journey than expected and harder than just saying "let's do it". I have this image of us all running through the daisy fields in our bikinis with rainbows in the background, singing about how much we love our bodies. Not likely, I know.

So how do you do it? Well, I don't have a hard and fast answer. It's a different journey for everyone, but I do have some steps that will help. The first thing I want to tell you is that instead of thinking you need to love your body, first try to make peace with it. Some women really hate their bodies. They've grown up hating the way they look, have trouble looking at themselves naked in front of the mirror and have a hard time being intimate with their partners. If these are some feelings you have, starting out by making peace with your body may be what you need to make the first step to be free from body loathing. These steps are small, and the bigger picture is just that, much bigger, but here are some simple things to get you started.

First off, and this may sound crazy, but start off by admitting how you feel about your body. We live in a world where it has become so normal to hate our bodies, we have become accustomed to it and are not feeling the feelings and emotions that go along with it. If it means having to strip down naked and look at yourself in front of the mirror, go ahead and do it. Take the time to really ask yourself what you think of your body. Don't feel like you have to lie about what you see. Be honest, even if it isn't nice. If you're going to make an honest effort in making peace with your body, you need to start by really understanding your own feelings which may be hiding. If you have to cry, then cry. Trust me, I've been there. This isn't a time to beat yourself up or make you feel worse, just a starting off point. I encourage you to journal about this.

The next thing, which is so important (they're all important, but this one is grand), is to stop the fat talk. Take note of how cruel (yes, cruel) you are to yourself when you talk or think about your body. You may want to do something so you have to stop and notice it. For instance, I always wear a pony tail holder around my wrist. What I do is switch it to the other wrist every time I say something negative about my body or even have a thought about it. This can even be if I am watching TV and see someone that I wish I looked like. The rubber band goes to the other wrist. You may be surprised how often you are switching it back and forth. This is to make you realize how often you beat yourself up and hopefully will slow down.

Hopefully these two things will get you started. Don't underestimate how much body loathing bleeds into other aspects of your life. Once you learn to accept and love your body for what it is, you'll be amazed at how much it will change your life.

I'll close with this short video. I think this 4 year old little girl sums it up best...

Birth Story, Part III

September 15th, 2009 was by far the most adventurous day of my life.

If you've read the birth story of my son, you'll hopefully understand my thoughts and feelings concerning the upcoming birth of my daughter. I was in personal predicament, being pulled in two different directions; on one side was my obstetrician strongly recommending I have a repeat cesarean section due to "risk factors" and the other side were my instincts telling me myself and my daughter were healthy enough to handle labor and that a natural vaginal birth was best for both of us rather than a surgery, given before she was even ready to be born.

That morning I had an appointment with my obstetrician. I brought my husband Jason with me because I knew it was going to be tense. The week prior, I had agreed to tentatively schedule a repeat c-section for Thursday, the 17th, which was one day before my due date. My OB and a perinatologist recommended I not go past my due date because of risk factors I mentioned in my last post. During the appointment as my OB is telling me he really doesn't think I should push the date back to wait until I go into labor on my own I broke down in tears. I was hoping to not get emotional, but at that point I was tired. Tired of fighting, tired of arguing with a medical professional, tired of unsolicited advice from others telling me what I should do. I felt my body and my daughter were telling me something: That everything was fine. All the recent tests (including one that morning) showed she was healthy. But there was a little part of me that felt compelled to listen to this man who had the medical degree and 25 years of experience. My husband asked him, "Are my wife and daughter in danger?" and my OB replied, "Well, there's always the possibility of sudden stillborn."

As below the belt as that comment was, I still knew, I just knew that we were okay. I went home and cried my eyes out and trying to come to terms with the fact that I should just give in and have another c-section. My doula, Linda, said we didn't need to make any decisions today, and that I had until Thursday morning to decide. She said to do my best to relax. That was much easier said than done.

At 5 pm I went in our back yard to sit with my son while he played. As I tried to get comfortable on an uncomfortable wooden patio chair I felt some movement down below and a warm trickle. I told myself not to get too excited that my water broke and stood up. Sure enough, warm clear fluid raced down both legs and if you've ever had this happen before (the same thing happened with my son), it's pretty obvious that it's not pee. I was in somewhat disbelief. But OH MY GOD IT HAPPENED! All the tears, all the worry, stress, indecisiveness and frustration, all came together and this was it. I still didn't know how it would all turn out, and there was still worry that my daughter wouldn't handle labor well, like the doctors warned me she may not, but at least I was going to get the opportunity to try to labor like my body was meant to.

Jason got home from work about 10 minutes later, we scrambled to eat and get some last minute things together. I called my doula, Linda and she was ecstatic. She said to call her when we got checked into the hospital because it would most likely be a while before my labor began. And away we went.

In the car the contractions started. They were uncomfortable, but bearable and I could still talk through them. But pretty much all I was saying was, "Ouch, this really hurts." They were steady at 5 minutes apart. We got to the triage floor and I approached the front desk where there were 3 nurses there. No one looked up for several seconds and that, for some reason, really irritated me. I suppose I expected them to see me, throw all their papers in the air and start yelling, "Oh my God, she's here!! The girl that wants a VBAC is here! Everyone get ready!" No such luck. They were very busy, but got me checked in and into a room. At that point time started to go really, really slow and I was very impatient. They took entirely too long to do everything, (which in hindsight they weren't, but in my position it was taking too long to do anything). My contractions were getting noticeably stronger and I felt like I had to go to the bathroom (yes, poop). This happened twice and both times I had to unhook myself from the monitors and tip toe across the triage room to the only bathroom. I had to stop a couple of times for contractions to pass.

The nurse came back and checked my cervix. I was 2 cm dilated and 90% effaced. So, no big emergency. Yet. She said they were really busy and would check again for a room. At this point time seemed to go as slow as molasses. People could not move fast enough. The only thing that was moving fast were my contractions and I really, really, wanted to get to a delivery room. Now, I don't consider myself a high maintenance kind of girl, but I told the nurse I needed a room, NOW. The next thing I knew I was getting into a wheelchair (which before then I thought only sissies had to be wheeled from triage to labor and delivery. I thought for sure I would be walking. Insert hysterical laughter on that thought). I asked the nurse to stop twice on the way while I had a contraction.

When we got to the room, I immediately had to throw up. I was trembling and shaking like I had never experienced before and began to feel like I was completely out of control of my body. Like it wasn't even my own. I made it to the bathroom and told my husband and Linda that I wanted some privacy. I sat on the toilet and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I had one hand on the wall and the other clutching the safety handle bar. I was pale white, sweating, and a little confused. Was this early labor? If I was only 2 cm dilated, didn't I have possibly hours and hours before I even make it to 4 cm, when the active labor stage starts? I left the bathroom and the obstetrician was there. For some reason I was relieved to see that it was a woman, perhaps I thought she would be more supportive that I wanted a VBAC. I managed to make it into the bed and the OB began asking me question, after question after question. About my health history, about this pregnancy, about my previous c-section, about my pain. I couldn't talk through contractions and even in between was difficult because all I wanted to do was be still and not utter a sound in fear that my voice vibrations may conjure up another contraction. I finally said, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but isn't all this information in my file or on some computer here?" With that, the OB said she wanted to check me again. Perhaps they know when the laboring mother gets feisty, things are moving pretty quickly, who knows. I finished a contraction and told her to hurry and check. I had my eyes closed and heard her say, "She's a seven".

Excuse me? Seven centimeters? I immediately thought of a book I had read, Your Best Birth where Ricki Lake describes the transition phase of labor going from seven to ten centimeters as something like, "This is the part where you're not fucking around anymore!" And boy was she right. I have also heard women say that at this point you sort of leave your body. It was like that for me. It was all happening so fast I could do nothing but think of how to stop the pain. I had previously decided to have a natural child birth. (Again, insert hysterical laughing here). However, when given the option to have an epidural when my head was spinning around, guess what I said? I would have taken a shot of tequila with a hit over the head with a frying pan.

The anesthesiologist arrived and I had to sit through transition contractions while he administered the medication in my back. He kept saying, "Don't move!" Ummm, okay. As soon as he left the room the OB checked me again and said, "She's complete." I heard the nurse tell me she was sure I was complete before he even started the epidural and that I had just gone through what takes most people 10 hours of labor in one hour. I've mentioned in other blog posts that I've always been the type of person that does things in a hurry. Apparently this was no exception.

I kept asking if the baby was doing well and the nurse told me (after I asked her for the 10th time) that she was doing better than a lot of babies that come in with no "risk factors" like mine. After the epidural kicked in things were a lot more peaceful. They left me alone with my husband and Linda so I could "labor down" and just let the baby come down naturally. After more than an hour the nurse said I could practice pushing and I said, "Like a dress rehearsal?" It was a little strange to push with no feeling down there, but practicing did help. They said they could see her coming. I was impressed with my husband who previously said he wouldn't want to see her come out at all, but he did in fact look. Part of the baby's head showed and I asked him if she had hair. He said yes. The nurse decided to call the OB to deliver. I was ecstatic!

It was 10:30 when the OB came in and sat down. I did about 4 sets of pushing and her head was out. One more push and Sydney Marie was born at 10:37. The OB put her on my chest and it was totally quiet. I didn't cry like I thought I would. I didn't say anything. I was stunned. Stunned that I did it. Stunned that she was here, finally and she was fine. Stunned at how beautiful she was. And stunned at how beautiful labor and birth are.

They let her stay on my chest for at least 30 minutes, I can't remember how much time passed. I think I finally cried, as did Jason. The placenta was delivered with no problems and the scar tissue was still attached to it. I didn't have any tearing. I kept thinking it was too good to be true, that everything went so well, even with the fast and furious labor. I said a few times that I felt like I was dreaming and that I would wake up and it would be earlier that same day. Linda pinched me and said, "You're not dreaming, you did it!"

I want to close this post by saying that the reason I wanted to share all of this was to emphasize the importance of listening to your body. Sometimes it's easier than others, but if we try and open ourselves to it, our bodies will communicate with us. I never once felt like anything was wrong during this pregnancy. There were times when I had to stop and ask myself, "Am I lying to myself?" and the answer was always no. I spent time alone, relaxing to become in tune with the mind/body connection and my body responded by opening up and communicating with me. I had to trust it and let go of fears which was probably the hardest part. In all that I have been through over the last several years, doing this has been the most empowering and healing reward I have been given.

Sydney Marie- 2 days old

*I also wanted to give a special thanks to the staff at Sharp Mary Birch Hospital for Women. The nurses and obstetrician were so helpful and played a major role in the safety and smoothness of my birth. Without them and their support that night, I'm not sure how it would have turned out. I don't believe there are enough words of gratitude.

Photos courtesy of author. Please do not duplicate without my permission.

Birth story, Part II

I've been putting off writing part 2 to this trilogy of my birth stories, only because the last couple of weeks has not turned out exactly like I had planned it. I'm not sure what I was thinking; pregnancy and birth can never be planned, many times there are bumps in the road and sharp turns need to be made. But if you read my last post, you know that I didn't have the best experience with the birth of my son and that my cesarean section left me feeling, well.....scarred for life.

With this pregnancy I had planned on a vaginal birth. My situation is called a Vaginal Birth After Cesarean, called a VBAC (pronounced "vee-back"). There has been much controversy over the years about VBAC and I won't spend time going over all of the research I have done, but in a nutshell, I felt that a vaginal birth was completely safe for me and my baby and my obstetrician was in agreement and supportive. I was ecstatic to be able to have a baby the way nature intended.

At 18 weeks things began to go slightly downhill. I was told I had what is called a uterine synechiae, basically scar tissue on my uterus connected to the placenta. Basically it was caused by my previous c-section. Another thing to add to my list of "why my c-section sucked". They said they are usually harmless, but weren't going to say a for certain "yes" to my VBAC until they checked it again, at 34 weeks. So I had to wait until then for them to not only check that, but check the baby to make sure she wasn't harmed by this and for them to tell me what they thought about the safest way for me to birth.

Week 34 came around and the synechiae was almost MIA, apparently it's typical for it to get pushed aside at that point. So, my VBAC was agreed by the perinatologist that I would be a good candidate. Hooray!!! I was so excited! I hired a doula and threw myself into researching about VBAC, natural childbirth and just birth in general. I couldn't wait to experince the magic of childbirth. Of course I knew that there was always a chance of another c-section, but I was content knowing that I would be able to allow my body to do what it was meant to do: Give birth.

At that appointment, I was told that my daughter was measuring small for her gestational age. She didn't seem too worried and asked about my son's size at birth. When I told her she said, "You're probably just one of those women that have small babies". Okay. She told me to come back in 2 weeks to monitor her progress. They don't mind if she's still small, but they want to make sure that she's growing adequately. For some reason I wasn't worried. Something told me it was fine and that my baby was growing as she should be and there was nothing to worry about. So I went to the next appointment feeling confident that they would tell me she was still small, but okay. They didn't. The doctor came into the room and said, "Last time you were here your baby was small, now she is officially small, in the 8th percentile for her gestational age. And your placenta is showing calcification, a sign that it's aging".

Time stopped. My mouth feel open as if to say something but nothing came out. I promptly burst into tears.

My head was spinning. Thoughts flooded: "What did I do wrong? I'm 34, I'm too old to have a baby. Why isn't she growing? What is wrong with my placenta? IS SHE DYING???"

I think I asked a question or 2, but the doctor might as well have answered in Chinese because I wasn't listening. I did ask what her recommendation of birth was for me; a vaginal birth or a cesarean section and she said I could go for what is called a trial of labor, they will monitor the baby the whole time, if she's fine I can go ahead with labor, if she seems stressed they will take her via c-section. Fine by me. I drove to my husbands work to tell him the news in person.

So for the last few days I have been going back and forth from being a complete mess about this, to feeling confident that everything will work out fine. The reason I wanted to share this is because of this:

I have learned (a little late) that opinions on this topic vary greatly. It's one of those things that if you have never been there it's impossible to say how you would feel and what you would do. It's a highly sensitive matter. Backing up a little, let me share with you my personal feelings about this. Keep in mind; these are my feelings, and I am not speaking for all women here.

I have come to the conclusion that women are given vaginas for 2 reasons: To make babies and to birth babies. We are put on this earth to reproduce and as a female, it is our inherent right to give birth. Modern technology has given us the gift to make sure our babies are healthy in the womb and have saved many, many lives of both mother and baby. If I had had the same pregnancy I had with my son 100 years ago (breech position and severe hypertension), there is a good chance I would have died during childbirth, as well as my son. I do think the best decision was made when it was decided to have a cesarean section. It goes without saying that I am grateful for modern medicine.

That being said, it still doesn't take away the feelings of failure that a surgical delivery brought to me. I feel like a natural child birth is something I was meant to do and it was taken away. My mother did it three times, and her mother did it 11 times (all at home by the way). I can't help but think: What is wrong with me?

At this point I have no idea how I will end up birthing this baby. The constant back and forth of decisions, feelings and emotions is almost too much to bear. One minute I think I should throw in the towel, schedule the cesarean and deal with the emotions later. The next minute my instincts say, "Wait a minute! I can do this! I was meant to do this! She is healthy and will be fine." Whichever voice is louder at that moment wins, and the process starts over. Sometimes it's unbearable. This is not how I imagined my last few weeks of pregnancy to be. Worried sick about my daughters health and doctors telling me different things about how I should birth. Not knowing what's best and running out of time. The whole time thinking how powerful it is to love someone so much that I haven't met yet. That there are so many people fussing over her and she is blissfully unaware of it all.

Then there's the question of selfishness. Why is this birth so important to me? Is it really best for both me and the baby? Is natural labor really just as safe? Biologically and scientifically I believe yes, I have done the research both ways to come to this conclusion. Sometimes it's not, and in my situation as I type this, I'm not sure what the right answer is for me, if any. I suppose I will find out within the next 2 weeks.

I think as women, many of us put a lot of pressure on ourselves to have the perfect birth, the perfect magical experience, blissful breast feeding, etc. And when it doesn't go that way, combined with all the hormones, it's the perfect storm. I can only speak for myself in that sense, but I beat myself up a lot over those things. This time I am working on letting it go.....I can only control so much and most importantly I can control my emotions, my reactions and leave the rest up to God.

In closing, I have had to ask myself why this birth is so important to me. For me, I am at the end of my child bearing days. Pregnancy is beautiful and I have never felt anything so alive and amazing as having my child grow and thrive inside of me. I am very lucky to have experienced this. I have always imagined what it would be like to be in labor, to feel my uterus actually contract and begin to push my baby out of me, a new life ready to experience a life of his or her own. For me, this is the essence of womanhood.

*Note: Although I love comments, due to the sensitivity of this matter, please do not comment if you are going to tell me what you think I should do or to be snarky. I posted this because I feel there are other women who probably can relate to these feelings and that it's normal to feel them.

Photo courtesy of soartsyithurts

Old posts revisited

One of my favorite sites, Girl, Get Strong has posted 2 of my old blog posts recently. You can read, "Sweet Revenge....or is it?" here, and "Every party has a pooper, that's why we invited you" here.

Birth story, Part I

I'm compelled to write my son's birth story for two reasons. One, I've never documented it, and since he just turned 2 last week I know the detailed memories will fade soon. Secondly, I have high hopes that my next child's birth in a few weeks will be different and I would like to look back on both years and years later.

I remember during one of the birthing classes Jason and I sat through the childbirth educator said that statistically 3 of us in the class would end up having a c-section (there were 9 other couples). I looked around the room and thought, "Ugh, not me!" The teacher herself had 2 c-sections and even my sister had 2 herself because of a heart condition she has. But I knew there was NO WAY I was going to be one of them. This baby was coming out the way nature intended as far as I was concerned.

Fast forward to week 32. My blood pressure was continuing to slowly rise with each visit to my OB/GYN. I was put on a pregnancy safe medication early on for high blood pressure because I have chronic hypertension even when I'm not pregnant. Because of this the doctors also like to check fluid levels in the womb and that turned out fine, but he saw that my son was in the breech position (which is butt first instead of head first). He said ever-so-casually, "Well, if he doesn't flip within the next few weeks, we'll just schedule a cesarean section."

Um, excuse me? I don't think so.

Never having even THOUGHT about this, I asked him if I could birth my son in this position. My doctor explained the risks, the only one I remember standing out in my mind was that the umbilical cord could come out first, get pinched and cause major problems (come to find out later, this could happen when the baby is head down as well). As I continued to ask questions the conversation ended with "No obstetrician at this hospital will allow you to birth a baby that is in the breech position."

I left the appointment with the hope that maybe this little baby would figure it out and flip within the next few weeks. My blood pressure kept getting worse and with each appointment they would confirm that he was still breech. At my 36 week appointment my doctor informed me that they had already scheduled my cesarean section for August 30th. My son was due September 5th. I told my OB that I didn't feel comfortable having them take him before he was "ready" to be born. I wanted to go into labor on my own, go to the hospital and then they could proceed with my surgery. Doesn't a woman's first labor typically last 12 hours or something? Was that asking a lot? Apparently yes, and as I can't recall his exact words, I remember feeling like it wasn't really up for discussion. I also later found out that they like to schedule c-sections at 39 weeks so the mother's DON'T go into labor on their own. In a nutshell, it's more convenient for the doctors and the hospital.

I left there feeling completely helpless and deflated. I was a statistic. My OB also prescribed bedrest because my blood pressure was still rising and I was already taking the maximum dosage of medication. I went home to prepare myself and try my best to come to terms with the fact that I wouldn't get the birthing experience that I wanted. My son had his first appointment of his life: To be born.

The next day was August 11th, 2007. I was at my in-laws house with Jason relaxing and talking to him about these being the last few days of just the two of us. We came in the house after laying by the pool (did someone say something about bedrest?), I laid on the couch and reached over to pick up a bottle of water and felt something shift inside of me, unlike the baby movement. The sound of it was strange too, like something popping. I thought I probably had to go to the bathroom, stood up and took a few steps and felt the warm rush.

"I think my water broke" I said to my mother-in-law. She replied, "Well, don't just stand there, go and check!" I shuffled into the bathroom and sat on the toilet. My bathing suit and shorts were soaked and it wasn't pee. I sat there for at least a full minute, totally silent. Oh. My. Shit. I vividly remember thinking, "How am I going to get out of this?" He was only 36 weeks along....IT'S NOT TIME!!! I poked my head out of the bathroom and told Jason we needed to go to the hospital. When we got there and I got out of the car my shorts were soaked. As we walked in the front doors I could feel it trickling down my legs and asked Jason to walk behind me. He assured me that I was not the first pregnant woman to walk into a hospital with amniotic fluid soaking my clothes and running down my legs. Thanks, honey. We got to the triage floor and I politely told the nurse that my water broke. She asked if I was sure. I said, "Well, I'm standing in a puddle of it so you can come around and check if you want." I don't think they found the humor in that.

I was put in a room and I can't remember much of what happened next except a nurse casually said, "Okay, looks like you're going to have a baby today!" NOTHING can prepare you for a perfect stranger saying those words to you. Nothing. She left the room and I burst into tears. Sobbing I sat on the edge of the bed and put my head on Jason's chest. I said to him, "Why is he so early? Is he okay, what if he's not ready? I'M NOT READY!!!" And I wasn't. Sure, I didn't have a bag packed (I was in my bikini, shorts and a tank top for pete's sake) and we didn't have the carseat ready, but I wasn't ready for surgery. I wasn't ready for this. I had never had a chance to come to terms with the fact that this is how my first born would come into this world. Less than 24 hours before that my doctor told me it was certain that I would not get to birth the way I wanted. I had never in my life even had a surgery before. Never even had a cavity! I was terrified.

I can't remember how we got to the labor and delivery floor, but shortly after we met the obstetrician that would deliver my son. Oh, nice to meet you, you're about to cut me open to pull my child out of my abdomen. Oh, and the anesthesiologist. You're about to stick a needle into my spine. Great! Glad I got to know you both for 5 seconds. I feel MUCH better. Here, let me just pull my heart out of my chest and hand it to you while we wait for an operating room. Wait.....what is that feeling??? Oh-you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me those are contractions starting.

As Dr. About-to-cut-me-open and Jason chatted, a nice nurse prepped me for surgery. I watched the clock as the contractions kept coming. There were 4 total every 5 minutes that lasted about 30 seconds. Knowing what I know now, I was in the early stages of labor and those contractions were a picnic as compared to what was to come. But, I never got to know. Away to the operating room I went. Alone. Jason was not allowed to join me until they were ready to cut me open.

Much of the next couple of hours is foggy. I was given the spinal to numb my entire lower body and I was helped to lay down on the table. I gasped out loud as I felt a nurse pull my legs open (not gently) and slightly felt her looking for where she was going to insert the catheter. No pain, but I could feel something. Then I heard one of the nurses say, "Uh, oh. Meconium." which I knew wasn't good. (Meconium is a sign that the baby has made a bowel movement in utero and could cause an infection if ingested.) I asked the other nurse if that was really bad. She was a heavy-set African American lady that said, "Honey, your baby's butt is wedged in your pelvis right now. Your contractions are literally squeezing the shit out of him. He's fine". Love her.

Jason was let into the room and sat down next to me, the anesthesiologist was on the other side of me. They both had their haz-mat suits on, masks and all. The doctor I had met previously then introduced me to another doctor that would be assisting him. Another stranger digging around in my innards. Fantastic! They told me they were about to start. Then I smelled it. Jason asked the anesthesiologist, "What's that smell?" I knew exactly what it was but was so horrified I could not speak it. The doctor said, "Do you really want to know?" Jason replied, "Oh, nevermind" as he figured it out.

It was the smell of burning flesh as they cauterized my skin open. Gross. The smell is unmistakeable. I focused on the huge bright surgery light above us and just prayed. Prayed that it would be over soon. Prayed that my son would be healthy. A few minutes later they removed him from my womb and held him up for me to see. I memorized his face right then and there. I knew I wouldn't be able to hold him until God knows when, so I wanted to be able to recognize him in case they accidentally switched him with another baby like you see on Oprah. I really don't remember details after that. I was sewn up, taken away to recovery, and suddenly there was Jason and my sister. I kept telling Jason to go and be with the baby instead of me because I didn't want him to be alone. It BROKE MY HEART that I couldn't be with him right away. His first minutes of life and he was in an incubator, being held by someone else, in a kangaroo pouch bouncing down the halls, I didn't know!?!?! All I know is that I couldn't move and I kept thinking, "Am I sleeping? Is this real? Dreaming?" I really couldn't decipher between reality and dream-state. I don't know how much time passed and they brought him to me. I was able to nurse him and finally be with him. But it was still strange. I never felt fully awake until hours later.

The point of this whole post is this:

It took me a long time to be at peace with the birth outcome of my son. I do believe a cesarean section was the best decision, given that I had a breech baby and hypertension. Had I not had high blood pressure I know in my heart I could have given birth to him vaginally if given the chance. But I can't take it back so I had to come to terms with it. Both for my own sanity and preparing for the birth of my daughter.

Which brings me to my next point. As mothers giving birth, we are taught to focus solely on the outcome of our baby. There is little regard to the feelings and emotions of the mothers. Cesarean sections have become so common and part of birth that our society has accepted it as almost as normal as a vaginal birth. And it's not even close. I can't tell you how many times I have heard, "Well, at least you have a healthy baby. And that's all that matters." And I nod back with a lump in my throat. There is an overwhelming feeling of shame for being unhappy about your birth outcome. It's looked at as selfish. Of course I am happy I had a healthy child and that I was safe. That goes without being said. But giving birth is one of those things that most of us know we are going to face someday. It's a monumental day, one that will live in our memories forever. I think it's not unlike our wedding day, it's something we think about and hope that day turns out perfect. And when it doesn't, it can be devastating.

I just want to put it out there that it's okay to be angry, frustrated, sad and just plain pissed off about your birth outcome. Feel the feelings so that you can move on. If you hold it in, it doesn't go anywhere and will just get worse. It wasn't until I admitted how awful it was, then I was able to shrug my shoulders and say, "Okay, I'm done and ready to move on."

If you have a similar story or even a different opinion, I would love to hear it!

*I should note that not all mothers have these feelings after a c-section. I personally know a few that had easy recoveries, and even elected to have c-sections rather than a vaginal birth. I think it's fantastic that these women can be happy with their birth outcome. I can only speak for myself and the many other women I have talked to that have had the same feelings that I've had.

Photo courtesy of David Maddison

How pregnancy has helped my relationship with food

In the past few months I've talked a lot about eating disorders and my own struggle with disordered eating and exercise. I've had to really think about my relationship with food and quite honestly, I thought it was a crock that people even had a "relationship with food". I thought that was only for over-eaters who used food as a coping mechanism or for other various reasons personal to themselves. Then I took a good, hard look at how I viewed food and realized that it probably wasn't the healthiest. I have a history of sporadic bingeing and purging (either vomiting or exercise, or both), and would ration the amount of calories I would eat every day. For instance, I would starve all day if I knew I was going to go out and have a big dinner with friends. And when I lived alone, I would look forward all day to coming home and eating an entire pizza all by myself. It's laughable that I thought I didn't have a terrible relationship with food.

When I became pregnant in early 2007, I truly felt what it was like to be hungry. Yes, I'd been hungry before, very hungry, but the kind of hunger that wakes you up in the middle of the night and speaks to you. Literally, I would have to get up out of bed and get a snack because I was so hungry. So began the "eat when you're hungry" notion.

Wow, it was just that easy.

At that point in my life I was just beginning to honor my body by listening. Listening when I was tired and truly needed to rest instead of exercise. Listen when I was injured and needed an ice pack or a doctor instead of pushing to run more miles. Listening and enjoying how good it felt to be fit for reasons of taking care of my body and nothing else. But food, eating and nutrition were still confusing, somewhat disordered and the last thing to fall into place.

When I was pregnant, I truly had to listen to my body when it came to feeding it. I was lucky the first time in that I had minimal morning sickness, and quickly I learned that I had to pack with me snacks to be able to eat at a moments notice. One minute everything would be fine and the next minute it was like my body said, "IF YOU DON'T GET SOMETHING IN THIS STOMACH IN 10 SECONDS ANY STOMACH ACID YOU HAVE WILL BE COMING OUT THE FRONT DOOR! 10....9.....8....7...." And the dry heaving begins. I am not exaggerating. If you've ever been pregnant or been around someone in her first trimester of pregnancy, you probably know the feeling.

The second time I became pregnant, I was much farther along in my recovery of disordered eating and exercise, so I became more conscious of all things related. During the first trimester I again noticed having to eat when I was hungry and it was smaller meals more frequently. But a huge "aha" moment I had was in the third trimester when the uterus gets so big it begins to push all the internal organs up and basically just smushes them. Therefore, the stomach and intestines are being sat on. Literally. There is nothing, I mean nothing, fun about over-eating during this time. A few weeks ago I did it once. I made lasagna and served myself way too much. As I'm slowing down and looking at the bowl my mind said, "You're full, please stop, no more. Can't. Take. Any. More. Pasta." But it was sooooo yummy, and there was only about 1 or 2 (okay 10) more bites, so I went for it.

Big mistake.

I had to hold my hand over my mouth and stay still for about 10 minutes while my husband cleared the table. I was afraid it I moved that my baby would do a David Beckham soccer kick and it would all be over. It was truly uncomfortable and I learned a hard lesson.

Hmmmm.....eat when you're hungry and stop when you're full. Who knew?

So, I'm not saying the secret to healing your relationship with food is pregnancy nor am I saying I'm completely the expert when it comes to eating and nutrition, but my main point is there is something to be said about listening to your body for all things including food. Simply put, when I gave my body what it needed in terms of nourishment, I could almost hear it say "thank you".

Photo courtesy of TowerGirl