I know it’s been a while since his arrival, but it’s taken me this long to finally settle into feeling ‘OK’ about my son’s delivery enough to be able to write about it.
I still don’t feel good about it. I don’t know that I ever will. Coming to terms with an experience that was so different than anything I’d wanted or imagined… and was so far from my fundamental trust and belief in nature and its processes is something I think I may struggle with for the rest of my life.
I can’t even bring myself to call it his birth, because I didn’t technically give birth to him. I was ‘delivered’ of him. He was forcibly removed from my body.
For this, I am incredibly sad and angry.
Sad that I didn’t have the birth experience I’d always dreamed of; sad that I couldn’t give my baby the start in this world he so deserved.
Angry at a medical system that seemingly places so little trust in the female body’s ability, and bullies them into often unnecessary interventions. Angry at myself for not pushing back more against the medical team, and angry at my body for falling short of every bit of faith I had in it.
Stay tuned for the long story of his arrival, should be posted Wednesday.
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