During my first labor, I invited my entire family to join me in the delivery room. I thought it would be a heartwarming experience, a day filled with laughter and shared joy. Unfortunately, I was mistaken.
As the Pitocin coursed through my veins, and I felt the first wave of contractions, I quickly realized that the reality of childbirth was far from the serene images I’d conjured in my mind. My mother, sensing my discomfort, decided that reading a Martha Stewart article at full volume would somehow ease my pain. Let’s just say, it didn’t. I felt an overwhelming urge to shout, “Just leave, please!”
I struggled with the guilt of wanting privacy after having extended the invitation. I had envisioned a beautiful setting with soft lighting, gentle music, and the tender arrival of my baby. In my mind, it was a scene worthy of filming for posterity. But that fantasy vanished in an instant.
Once I sent my family away, things took a rapid downturn. My bra felt like a torture device, and I couldn’t get it off fast enough. It ended up swinging from the IV pole like a sad flag of defeat. I began to question the idyllic births I had seen in Lamaze classes. Were those women actresses? How could they look so graceful while giving birth? I was certainly no goddess; I was just a sweaty, primal mess.
The video camera we had so carefully packed for the occasion sat untouched in the bag. Honestly, if anyone had dared to reach for it, I would have smashed it to pieces. This was not a moment meant for recording.
I was loud, in pain, and utterly focused on getting through the contractions. When the hospital staff brought my husband a dinner served on a silver platter, I lost it. I yelled at him to stay focused on me, and frankly, I didn’t care if he ate or not.
Later, when the nurse suggested a mirror so I could see my baby crowning, I could barely articulate my thoughts. “No, just get this baby out of me!” I wanted nothing more than to hold my child, safe and healthy. That was the only moment worth capturing.
While many choose to film their births and celebrate the experience, my reality was different. There was nothing beautiful about my labor, and it’s not something I wish to relive or share. And you know what? I’m at peace with that decision.
When my next child arrived, the camera stayed at home. Instead, we filled our time with joyful videos of our children—moments where I wasn’t screaming in agony or dealing with the chaos of childbirth. To find great resources on home insemination, check out this post or find quality at-home insemination syringe kits at Make a Mom. For more information about intrauterine insemination, Healthline is an excellent resource.
In summary, the birth experience can be far from what we expect. I learned to embrace the messiness of it all, choosing to capture the moments that truly matter instead.