What women think
November 2006

Natural childbirth - the ultimate oxymoron?

Down the road from me lives this gorgeous young mum. She's late 20s, pretty as a picture. With hair that does this amazing flowing billowing thing, very infrequently experienced by my own locks. Really only when I've just emerged from the hairdresser. Except for that one time that I was in a hurry and like an idiot went to a "chain-store" hairdresser. My lawyer is confident of securing me an excellent out-of-court settlement.

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But I digress.

This young mum uses cloth nappies, grows her own vegetables, never touches alcohol and recycles the bath water. She walks to the corner shop, hangs her washing on a clothes line and I'm yet to see the Dominos delivery car in her drive way ... and believe me I've looked, sometimes wondering if they do a two-for-one delivery price for my street.

Mind you, if I wasn't joining the daily derby to find my way unarmed and unharmed into the city each week day to masquerade about an office as some marketing maestro or whatever wanky job title I have, I'd grow vegetables. Probably even in the dirt. I'm unclear as to whether my goodness would extend to hanging my washing on the line, but again, I digress.

This column isn't all about me ... for a change.

This gorgeous mum has just had a baby. A little girl, called Katherine. Well, it's pronounced Katherine, that's how they introduced me. But I've noticed that it starts with a "Z" and ends with a "C" and there's no "TH" in the midst. Perhaps it's a name from some remote Slovakian village?. Or they found it inscribed on the upper reach of a minor pyramid in Egypt. Or maybe Mum and Dad failed Year 10 English.

Am I digressing again?

The baby is gorgeous too. All eight pound two of her (I've no idea what that is in Fahrenheit). And she was delivered naturally. As you would assume a child of such a mother would be, I was proudly told by the lovely mum.

But what constitutes natural childbirth?

I know she bravely squeezed her eight pound princess from her half ounce aperture, but she'd had her baby manually turned from the breach position two weeks prior. She'd received pain killers throughout labour and was the recipient of some vaginal cross-stitch post birth thanks to a generous episiotomy. Good on ya doc.

Is this natural? Natural to me is the stories of the Chinese ladies on the rice fields who work under the beating sun whilst nine months pregnant and then excuse themselves from their work mates in the same manner I would apply if I was racing to the bar to get another double scotch before happy hour finished. Courteous but hurried.

From all accounts they turn their back, squat a bit (miraculously without the aid of Pilates classes) and effortlessly bring a new life into the world. They pop bub on their shoulder and go back to picking rice without so much as a Huggie in sight. Let alone a pastel shaded Babygro. Edged in some fabulous white piping. With matching jacket.

I'm a mum. I did the birth thing. Once. So maybe that doesn't make me the oracle of childbirth. Then again, most opinions on birth that I hear are from childless women in their 30s and men. So really I hold superior qualifications.

My daughter was a caesarean birth and whilst not planned, I was certainly not unhappy about it. I guess I worked off the naïve principle that I was pregnant to have a baby, not a birth. I never felt less complete, I never felt that I hadn't honoured my child's world entry, I never felt that I failed.

But plenty of other people did. Comments ranged from, "Oh darling, what a disappointment." (This from my then mother-in-law as she stood holding her first grandchild. Clearly her diplomacy ran in the family hence the "then mother-in-law" reference.)

"Do you feel like a proper woman?" (This from a cousin who had no children and resolutely no short to medium term intentions of having any either.) Well sweetie, I murmured, if they'd let me give birth in a pair of high heels, my proper womanly factor would have been pretty high.

"Do you think you'll still be able to bond with your daughter?" Well, if I gave birth and then moved to the northern end of Greenland for the best part of five years, I might have a problem bonding.

To me, these were just dumb, insensitive ramblings. But that aside, I couldn't understand why I was being held up for comment. But if I'd had a vaginal birth with major medical intervention, I would be regarded as a modern-day Wonder Woman. Perhaps not wearing those tight little shorts, but that would only be due to my enormous pregnant belly, not because I'd skipped gym class for all of winter. And most of spring. What month is it?

A girlfriend of mine laboured dreadfully for 18 hours and steadfastly ignored the advice of her doctor to have a caesarean delivery. It took 34 hours, epidurals, forceps, episiotomies, the suction cap and enough pain killers to keep Michael Jackson happy to bring her child into the world.

But her birth is still classified as natural ... but not by her.

I've started a new vocabulary for childbirth. Vaginal and vaginal by-pass. Sometimes I call it the sun-roof option.

To me, it's about mum and bub. She's the one who has been incubating the little blighter since dad got the whole thing started and she can be the one to choose what feels right for her body and her mind. And if choice goes out the window and she has to follow doctor's orders, that makes her smart for wanting the best for her child.

That's probably why it has never bothered me that I had a caesarean birth. I couldn't care less. My daughter Jade is now a fabulous, healthy, switched-on, confident, happy non-drug-taking teenager. How she came to be in my world is irrelevant. It's what I chose to do once she arrived that's important.

Still, it's interesting isn't it that I never had another child. I've simply put it down to the fact that I much preferred the act of trying to get pregnant; it's just the childbirth part I'm not so sure about.

Read other columns written by Bron

Bron McClain p 0412 326 300 e bron@bronmcclain.com