by Daniela Syrovy
I have to confess that I’m a bit of a dirty hippie and the day I found out I was pregnant I set my sights on a natural home birth.  The idea of going to a hospital to bring a life into this world just grosses me out. Hospitals are for the sick and the dying, not for the pregnant and the newly born. As bull headed as I am, 7 hours into labour I was seriously considering giving up and giving in—thoughts of the dreamy, numbing epidural floating through my head. Here’s how it went down. 

It’s 2am and I wake up with the most excruciating pain I have ever felt. The feeling is similar to crippling menstrual cramps. Except these aren’t your ordinary cramps. These cramps are in overdrive– they are the Schwarzenegger and Stallone of cramps.

The midwives tell me this is called Early Labour. Early Labour?!! Panic sets in. “Early” suggests there is something beyond that is ‘late’ labour or Labour: Part Two.

Labour: The Really Bad Sequel is all I’m thinking. 

Turns out there is more than just a sequel—this is a quadrilogy. Labour has four stages!

1 )Early Labour – For first time moms this can last up to 48 hours in advance. What you’re supposed to feel here is ‘mild’ cramps (read face-cringing contractions).

This is followed by

2) Active Labour where the real fun starts. Active Labour lasted about 12 hours for me and this is when moms-to-be are supposed to feel regular, strong contractions (read: sledge hammer pounding your uterine walls to a Nickelback song).

Then bam! Out of nowhere you’re in

3) Transition—this is the shortest of the stages but the most out of control. I always picture my menstrual cramps as an evil gnome inside of me punching, squeezing and hammering at my insides. During Transition—this little gnome—this little f*%*ker, he’s brought his friends with him. There are a hundred evil gnomes and they’re all on steroids. The evil things are inside of you stabbing and killing all of your organs to the point where you think you’ll die.

And finally

4) Pushing –We’ve all seen a delivery on television or in a film. Forget what you’ve seen. In tvland the scenario goes:

Wife: “Honey my water broke—I think it’s time.” (Big smiles, excitement and sheer joy all around)

Husband: “Oh dear I better get the car ready.” (Anxious but collected).

Fast forward to the hospital

Doctors: “Push Peggy Sue, Push.”

Moments later the wife huffs and puffs and soon we hear the wail of the child. It appears that pushing takes only a few minutes.

Real life equivalent:

Wife: “Holy S*&t, motherf*&^*$%, when will these contractions end?” (Excruciating pain and exhaustion, sounds erringly similar to a wild beast or other large animal in heat)

Husband: “Stay calm babe. I’m here for you” (Totally shocked at his wife’s animalistic behaviour and instincts).

24 to 48 hours later…

Midwifes: “Ok now pretend as if you are going to take a massive dump. Yup right there, bear down and feel as if you’re going to deliver your baby through your anus. Stretch your perineum” (For those of you who don’t know what your perineum is my advice is to become well acquainted with it before you get knocked up).

Then the midwives continue: “That’s it. Good job. We’re almost there.”

“Almost there” means you push through a contraction as hard as you can and the baby comes forward and then retreats until the next contraction. Two steps forward, one step back and eventually a tiny corner of your baby’s head appears.

Pushing for first timers can take up to two full hours. At this point you’re feeling a serious ring of fire down there and all of your organs are migrating to other parts of your body.

It took me what felt like an eternity to get to the pushing stage.

Despite my determination to have a natural home birth, ten hours into hard labour I was on the verge of giving up. Between cow like wails and bizarre rhythmic squats, between fits of rage and moans of desperation I had fallen asleep twice (my husband told me this the following day-I had no recollection of the sleep). I was truly exhausted and things weren’t looking good.

It was at this point the midwives gave me my options.

“Daniela you’ve been up for over 24 hours, your body is spent, we need your contractions to get longer, stronger and closer together and you need to get your shit together—otherwise we have to move you into the hospital. You won’t have enough energy to get through it. Now eat a damn fuzzy peach.”

They had been offering me fuzzy peaches and other candies for hours but the thought of putting something into my mouth made me want to vomit violently. 

All I could think was “I’m dying!! I don’t want a fuzzy peach to be my last meal!”

I was convinced I was dying. I mean I absolutely believed with everything in me that this was the end of me. Clearly I wasn’t having a baby. There was no way I was having a baby. This was actually somebody’s idea of a sick joke. I was being punished for eating too many burgers. My belly was bloated and now the punishment was death. Death by burgers! There’s no baby –I’m just dying.

As it turns out this was the key to getting through labour. The golden ticket. Once I truly gave into the thought that I was on my deathbed only then could I give into the pain and allow myself to go the distance. I thought if I’m dying anyways I might as well allow the pain to swallow me and finally start listening to what my midwives were saying. Go out with a bang!

In a sadomasochistic trance I kicked it into gear. My adrenaline racing, I popped fuzzy peaches like they were going out of style.

Fuzzy peaches bring it on! Big Feet you got nothing on me! Ginger cookies you’re pathetic! Ha ha ha I’m dying. I’m dying is all I could think and now the joke was deliriously hilarious in my head. I even popped two disgusting chocolate covered coffee beans and swallowed them down with some Gatorade. All of the vomit worthy tips the midwives gave me that I had previously rejected I was now embracing. After all what does it matter if you vomit when you’re dying? 

The next thing I know I’m on the bed and my husband is whispering in my ear “You did it, the baby is coming, all you have to do is push.”

Two hours of anus ripping pushing and bam! Literally bam! I looked out the window and fireworks were going off. My little girl was born on Victoria Day and just as she emerged a wicked showcase of fireworks went off outside. Glorious. Perfect. In an instant you forget the quadrilogy of hell you just went through. In an instant you’re completely madly in love and the whole thing is the most surreal experience you’ve ever encountered. There truly are no words to adequately describe the experience and nothing can prepare you for the pain and beauty of it. For nine months you carry this unknown creature in your belly and one day he/she comes into the world tearing up your vagina! I mean there is nothing more fascinating and beautiful. There is nothing more empowering either. I am now of the opinion that if I could do that, I could do anything! I could climb any mountain; I could whip anybody’s ass. Becoming a mom is akin to becoming a super hero. I absolutely must start brainstorming my new superhero name. All suggestions are welcome.

Maybe superhero is not a strong enough or powerful enough word. The following night in my dreams I dreamt that a random acquaintance came up to me while I was shoe shopping and said, ‘Hey D, what have you been up to lately? What’d you do last night?” and my response was, “Oh you know…not much. Just built a human being inside of me for nine months and then delivered it through my vagina.”

And it dawned on me in the morning that I had actually created life! I Super D Extraordinaire (ok so I’ve got to work on my name) created a human being! This coming from a girl who has trouble creating scrambled eggs.

Superhero and power are not the words—I’m practically God.

Now all God has to do is figure out how to breast feed. Stay tuned…  

***I know I’ve traumatized any women considering having a baby but trust me when I tell you that all the hell is completely worth it once you see the tiny mini human you created.  It’s a mini-me—I mean what narcissist wouldn’t love that? ***