By the time I reached my seventh month of pregnancy with my first child, I was practically wearing a neon sign that read: “Due April 30. No, I don’t know the gender. Yes, I feel fantastic. No, I don’t look pregnant from behind—my uterus isn’t in my backside (at least, according to my last OB appointment).”
Even the most well-intentioned folks began to irritate me when they were the 87th person of the day to ask the same three questions: When’s your due date? What are you having? Are you feeling okay? Wow, you don’t look pregnant from behind!
Seriously, there should be maternity shirts with these answers printed on them!
I was astonished by how many “experts” emerged to share their unsolicited opinions while I was expecting. Not a single one of their stories matched the others. I heard everything from, “It’s definitely a girl, and you’ll deliver early,” to “It’s a boy, and you’ll probably need a C-section.” With all these so-called experts around, it’s a wonder we still have obstetricians and ultrasounds! For the record, I had a boy, and he arrived naturally, eight days ahead of schedule.
Fast forward to my second pregnancy, and I felt compelled to add another line to my sign: “Please spare me the labor horror stories.” This time around, once my baby bump was undeniable, I was inundated with tales of woe.
Women shared that they barely made it to the hospital for their second child. Men recounted delivering their wives’ babies at home or, even worse, in the car. I heard about grueling 72-hour labors ending in emergency C-sections, and labor experiences so quick that there was no time for an epidural. Stories of extreme blood pressure and preeclampsia were shared, with women claiming numbers as high as 600 over 80 (is that even real?). And the episiotomy tales were straight out of a horror flick—867 stitches up to one woman’s eyebrows!
Really? Your OB was on a safari when your water broke? Noted. I’ll remind my doctor to keep her passport at home for the next 40 weeks. Your water broke on a Ferris wheel? Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll be avoiding amusement parks after 38 weeks.
I may not be juggling a minivan full of kids, but this isn’t my first rodeo either. Still, I find my anxieties swinging between the fear of having my baby two months early on a train and going so far past my due date that my OB has to induce me to deliver a toddler. All of my worries about labor and delivery are confirmed in these “helpful” anecdotes. Just when I thought I might miss the signs of labor, I now know that it can happen in the most unexpected situations—like in a grocery store.
As a woman, I understand the urge to share experiences. I really do. I sometimes feel compelled to warn expectant mothers that, contrary to what birthing classes teach, you may not recognize when your water breaks—especially if you’ve had multiple kids and tend to “leak” during sneezes or trampoline jumps. Our need to share comes from both the desire to help and the satisfaction of discussing our own experiences bringing our tiny humans into the world.
However, these labor horror stories, wrapped up as advice, are not helpful at all. They can make pregnant women reconsider their choices after hearing how terrifying labor can be. Let’s face it—every pregnancy is unique, so why would one person’s labor experience apply to anyone else?
Why should I prepare for a 12-pound baby like yours when I’m 5 feet 4 inches tall and built like a boy? Please. My stress about labor is already heightened with every Braxton-Hicks contraction. Now is not the time for you to regale me with tales of how you “went natural” for 46 hours or how your birthing ball popped mid-contraction.
Surprisingly enough, the number of people in the world is directly related to the number of women who have gone through labor. Enduring labor is a common bond, and it can even be enjoyable to share the good, the bad, and the ugly of childbirth. I appreciate a good labor story just as much as the next mom, but not when I’m on the brink of my own experience.
So, next time you feel the urge to tell an expectant mother about the joys of a “double contraction,” resist that temptation. Especially if she’s busy timing her “gas pains” to see if they last a minute and hit every five minutes. Let’s save those horror stories for a night out with a glass of wine, long after the epidural has worn off, when we can laugh without worrying about stitches or leaks.
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Summary
Sharing labor horror stories with pregnant women can amplify their anxieties and fears about childbirth. Instead, it’s essential to offer support and understanding, allowing expectant mothers to prepare for their unique experiences without the weight of others’ terrifying tales.