July. Mississippi. 36 weeks pregnant. I was over being pregnant, over feeling hormonal, over my body aching, over my children getting on my nerves, over my abundant desire to eat out every night. I was over it. 41 weeks? Oh yeah, I was totally and utterly over it.
And very understanding of why an elective induction is appealing in late stages of pregnancy. Let's just get it over with, shall we? Homebirths and midwives are not conducive to getting the show started before every hormone is perfectly in sync but I day and night dreamed about cranking up the artificial hormones and turning my prodromal labor into some effective, baby bringing contractions.
^ From a woman who has great disdain for elective inductions.
Then the back labor. I hear women talking about back labor. But I didn't get it. Oh yes, now I understand back labor. And it is a bitch. As was that raw abrasion on my back from Taylor's counter pressure with his palm.
^ From a woman who has been rather flippant about labor pains in the past.
And with intense emotions and intense back labor marches in Ollie....otherwise known as "high palate and mild posterior tongue tie boy". I now understand why women give up on breastfeeding -- the pain of a crappy latch, the horrors of recurrent plugged ducts, the internal self doubt of whether or not your baby is getting enough, the googling for answers that just leads to more stress. Thanks to breastfeeding my first two babies for a total of 3.5 years and having a wide circle of breastfeeding support, Ollie and I pushed through and things are significantly better at this point. But I think of women crying with their babies at night because their breasts hurt and everyone in their life says just give the baby a bottle. It is a common story and I feel blessed that it isn't my story.
^ From a woman who might not have reached out for help with her first baby.
Ollie. He is my little empathy giver.