8 ½ months. the terror

We toured the hospital. Attended a 6 hour birthing class. And a two hour breast feeding class. We put the nursery together. Filled the drawers.
Almost 34 weeks. 5-7 to go.
All this nesting is supposed to calm me. Prepare me for what's to come.

This is the exact moment that I have a complete breakdown. I'm scared shitless. Absolutely petrified. Watching four births did not make me feel more comfortable. I started hyperventilating.

Three days later, I'm still hyperventilating. Learning to recognize the stages of a 12-18 hour tour through various levels of agony?  Not helpful. I'm all too aware that this entire process will cumulate with me shitting myself while a room full of complete strangers stare as my naked nether regions are literally ripped or cut apart in a bloody display.
It's a scene right out of an old english operating theatre.

It's a modern day horror movie. This is what should be taught in high school. Make kids watch a vaginal delivery and I guarantee teen pregnancies would be down.

You'd think after 6000 years someone would have figured out how to make this better. You've read Brave New World? Remember the incubators? Where the hell are the incubators? Where are the technological advances to this process? Why I am still carrying a child to term just like cave women did?

There's no good way out. Let's drop the cloak and dagger act and examine the facts.
Vaginal delivery? You're torn apart naturally OR you're cut apart and THEN (to add insult to injury) the skin of your most delicate parts, your vagina is stretched to a breaking point jokingly referred to as the ring of fire. You can't even use toilet paper for days after because you're nursing a bloody gaping wound.
C-section? Doctor takes a scalpel to your stomach, slices away- let's not even talk about the recovery.
Epidural? You're not even allowed to get an epidural until you're already halfway dilated and are at your agony threshold. Localized pain killers? Extremely frowned upon because of the transfer to the baby, "Nice job mom, took care of yourself and the baby right up until the delivery when you took a load of drugs."
We haven't even touched on the possible complications that can arise just by starting the labor process. They range from bad to tragic for me and the baby. That's truly the stuff of nightmares, and has been the subject of my dreams of late.

I've got a lot of strong opinions right now. They stem from the fact that I've got a basketball strapped to my stomach. I can't take it off and courtesy of the enlightening courses I'm taking, I feel like I'm staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.

So spare me the speech about the "beautiful natural process." And don't make the assumption that me hating pregnancy and the very idea of delivery means I'll hate my child. That's a dumb assumption that's far too prevalent. That's akin to assuming that you'll hate or wreck your new car because you hate having to make the payments. Just because I wanted a child does not mean I wanted to have my body distorted beyond recognition and endure 10 months of discomfort, sickness, pain, fatigue, sleep loss, etc.

In fact, let's talk about that "beautiful natural process."Let's talk about the glowing mother and the special bond developed between mother and child. The beautiful bump.
I'm not glowing. Like so many other women, I'm a recovered anorexic who finally found peace with herself through exercise and strength. I've watched several years worth of hard worn victories over my body slip away in a matter of months as I lose the capability to run, workout, even walk without pain. It's a complete loss of self confidence and pride.
And the bond? Here's my experience. Kicks can hurt. These movements aren't gentle or relaxing. My organs are literally being punched and kicked with no protective layer of skin or muscle to shield them, and sometimes the shock and pain is enough to bring me to my knees. It's not really conducive to warm fuzzy feelings.

If you haven't been pregnant, you aren't allowed to judge me for being less than thrilled. You can either sympathize or keep your opinions to yourself. Or risk being punched in the throat.

If you have given birth? Think back on it. Realize that the pain has faded from your memory and that telling me it's not going to be that bad is just BS. Remember the forgotten leg cramps in the night, the painful months as your hips separate and your genital muscles rip and swell, the constant feeling that you're suffocating as you struggle to take a deep breath into your compressed lungs, or the all day sickness and nausea that accompanies you for months at a time.

Lastly, if you were one of the few women who didn't go through agony then realize your experience was a miracle and that telling anyone to expect the same is akin to me telling you that you absolutely WILL be an astronaut in this lifetime. Is it possible? Maybe. But let's be real,  you won't ever be an astronaut. NASA's funding is cut and we aren't planning a lot of space travel right now.

Here's the thing. I'm allowed to be scared. We're not talking about some difficult task here. I'm talking about pain. Outright agony.  I shouldn't be embarrassed or ashamed to say I'm afraid. I shouldn't be judged for feeling this way. I don't want to be coddled. I just want an alternative that's removed from the horror genre. I want some decency.