Some individuals meticulously plan for childbirth by selecting meaningful music, crafting encouraging notes, and carefully organizing their hospital bags. I was not among those people.
Many expectant parents find motivation in the thought of their baby during labor, envisioning their little one’s perfect face and tiny hands as they prepare to bring them into the world. I was not one of those individuals.
While I did hire a doula and threw together a few items in a bag, I didn’t truly prepare for the experience of giving birth. In fact, I forgot that I was supposed to meet my daughter that day.
To be honest, I don’t have a particular “style” when it comes to my clothing, appearance, or home decor. If I did, it would be straightforward and uncomplicated. I approached childbirth with the same mindset; I had no fixed idea about how I wanted the experience to unfold—no chants, no hypnosis, no birthing tub. The only thing I didn’t want was a C-section. And guess what? That’s exactly what happened.
I anticipated giving birth in a hospital, likely with some relief from pain through medication. But at 37 weeks, I learned that my baby girl was in a breech position. After a somewhat traumatic failed ECV (external cephalic version), where a doctor attempted to turn the baby, I had to schedule a C-section.
Once the C-section date was set, I became emotionally distant. My mind shifted into survival mode, and I felt numb. During the final weeks of my pregnancy, I busied myself with lists and preparations for life after surgery. I understood intellectually that I would soon be bringing home a baby, but emotionally, I was focused solely on the surgery.
Yes, the surgery.
In my mind, it was surgery—not birth. It felt like an intense procedure that would involve a long, painful recovery. I didn’t refer to it as the day I would meet my baby. My husband frequently expressed his eagerness to meet our daughter, and while I echoed his enthusiasm, I felt nothing.
Deep down, I was terrified, but I couldn’t admit it. Acknowledging my feelings would have made me crumble.
I wasn’t oblivious to the realities of childbirth. Having spent eight years in women’s health, I knew about pregnancy, childbirth, and postpartum experiences. I was well-informed about the physical changes women undergo. Yet, nothing could prepare me for the emotional and psychological effects—I was stepping into the unknown, and that scared me.
On the morning of my C-section, I sat on the couch, counting down the minutes until we had to leave for the hospital, just waiting. Waiting for it to be over. Waiting for the pain. Waiting for the relief that would follow.
In the operating room, I cracked jokes and made small talk with the medical team. I asked questions about everything except the surgery itself. They smiled and laughed, perhaps wondering if I was losing my mind, or maybe they recognized my fear while they calmly went about their work. After all, this wasn’t their first C-section. As I lay on the operating table, I chatted with my doula and husband, bombarding my doula with inquiries about her life. I didn’t retain a single word of her responses; her voice was merely a soothing background murmur. I could only hear my own breathing and the beeping machines nearby, my gaze fixed on the sterile ceiling tiles above.
Then, my daughter arrived.
The surgeon proclaimed, “Congratulations!” as she lifted a tiny, pink, wailing baby above the privacy screen that shielded my open body. I looked at my baby in astonishment and turned to my doula, saying, “Wow, this is weird.” I quickly returned to my stream of questions. Within five minutes, my baby was placed on my chest.
In that instant, it all became real. The moment her warm body touched mine, it hit me: she was my baby, and I had just given birth. This baby was real. This surgery was indeed a birth. As her soft skin met mine, I felt a warmth wash over me. In that cold, clinical environment, I held the sweetest, warmest little being—my baby.
I now understand that by scheduling my C-section, I chose my baby’s birthday. How beautiful and surreal is that? Yes, my mind did what was necessary to cope with the surgery so I could bring my daughter into the world. No, I didn’t think about my baby while giving birth. But so what? I gave birth. I survived. I received my reward. Some women find empowerment and excitement in their birthing experiences. (If that’s your story, I’m genuinely happy for you.) Others, like me, navigate through birth to transition to the next chapter of their lives. Both experiences are valid and acceptable.
Yes, I bear the scar of a C-section. Yes, I now feel a sense of accomplishment because it’s behind me and I made it through. But I didn’t feel that way then, and that’s perfectly fine. If your birth story isn’t what you expected or if you didn’t think about your baby while giving birth, remember this: you don’t have to adore the experience of childbirth to love your baby.
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Summary:
The author reflects on her unexpected experience of childbirth, detailing her emotional detachment during her scheduled C-section. While she didn’t prepare for the event like many expectant parents, she ultimately embraced the reality of motherhood as soon as her baby was placed in her arms. Her story highlights the diverse experiences of birth and reassures readers that love for their child can exist independently from the experience of childbirth itself.