Last night I was awake in bed, as insomnia is part of pregnancy, and I started to visualize the way I want the birth of my next child to proceed. I tried to picture it all, including the pain, perhaps the uncertainty, but also the carrying on, and then the pushing. I saw myself perhaps squatting on the bed as I delivered the baby. I imagined the huge rush of relief and triumph and ecstasy. I had the tiny newborn on my chest, asking that the nurses not clean the baby, or do any other unnecessary meddling, until we had a good long while to lay there together, skin to skin. I wondered if I kept doing this visualization, if it would leave me with less doubt when the day actually comes.
You see, because of the way everything went with Freya, I am unfortunately saddled with the notion that my reproductive system is incapable of handling its most basic duties. For years, we were unable to conceive on our own and required medical intervention to get pregnant. Then her placenta was somewhat abnormal, with the cord inserted on the side rather than in the center. Then I went all the way to 42 weeks without ever going into active labor or dilating past 4 cm. Then the induction failed, then Freya had heart decelerations, then I had a c-section. A doctor was required for us to conceive, and then for her to be born. My body failed (WELL except for the perfect healthy beautiful girl it created).
Of course, ever since then, I have been trying to prove that story wrong. After a very rough start and a lot of determination, I breastfed Freya for over two years — the first eight months of which pretty much exclusively. She has never tasted a drop of formula. So, my body more than did her job there.
Then somehow, we conceived again completely on our own in October. No fertility clinic or tests or catheters for this one. It happened the way it’s supposed to — by chance, in our home. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t feel as real yet?
So this time is different. It has to be. I will fight hard to avoid another abdominal surgery. The exact same rules will apply this time: it won’t happen unless someone is in real peril. I understand that to have my VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean), I will need to be extremely well-informed, prepared, confident, positive, and so on. I will be up against a medical profession that will view me as an accident waiting to happen, and possibly as a troublemaker for not just scheduling the c-section like every other woman they see who has already had one. Sorry, but for me, the risks and downsides of another surgery FAAAR outweigh the extremely remote risks of VBAC.
If I were a true badass, I would just go for a homebirth and not have to worry at all about the fight I am in for with the hospital staff. But I can’t deny I am still a bit traumatized by what happened with little unborn Freya, hearing those heart tones drop.
So I will do everything I can to just make sure that Brian and I retain as much power as we can, and hope and hope and hope that my body follows through this time, that labor begins naturally at home, progresses toward the finish line, and lets me push my baby out.

