People-pleasing has been a long toxic trait of mine — I blame eldest daughter syndrome. These tendencies came out in full force during the lead-up to the birth of my first child.
In conversations with my care team, I was more concerned with getting non-existent brownie points for being a "chill" patient than actually voicing the desires I had. I regularly used phrases common in Facebook parenting groups: “The best plan is no plan!” “You can’t control birth!” “All that matters is that my child and I make it out alive.”
Perhaps you genuinely feel that way, and that’s valid. The problem is that I had other desires, which is also valid.
Looking back, I don’t feel like I did enough research into my birth options. But I knew that I wanted to try for a vaginal birth, and I wanted immediate skin-to-skin contact with my baby.
In short, I expected things to happen like they did in the movies: I'd push out my baby, and then a nurse would place him in my arms. That didn’t happen when I gave birth to my first son, and I was silently haunted by the experience for months.
My first birth went nothing like I’d expected it to
I had heard that your first child is always late, so imagine my surprise when I first experienced contractions at 38 weeks and five days. They weren’t consistent, but the pain was significant. My husband and I went to the hospital.
I was only one centimeter dilated, with contractions seven to 10 minutes apart. The doctor on call told me I should go home and come back when contractions were consistently less than five minutes apart. The following day, the contractions still weren’t five minutes apart, but since I hit full-term, 39 weeks, I decided to go back to the hospital. The doctor suggested giving me Pitocin to speed up the process, and I agreed.
When Birth Doesn't Go According to Plan
Pitocin is a synthetic version of oxytocin that stimulates contractions, so it can speed up or induce labor. It is helpful in many cases but has the potential to overstimulate the uterus, lead to changes in fetal heart rate and increase the odds of a cesarean section. I didn’t know any of this at the time. Three hours later, the doctor became concerned about my son’s heart rate. He said we’d need to do a C-section.
The surgery wasn’t an emergency — we had about 90 minutes to discuss what music I wanted to hear (Bruce Springsteen) and determine that my husband would announce the sex of the baby. The C-section went smoothly. My husband shouted, “Boy!” and I heard my son cry. He was healthy. I was healthy. But I couldn’t see my son.
I stretched my neck to try and catch a glimpse as the doctors weighed him, but nurses and medical students were in the way. Finally, 30 minutes after I’d given birth, the team in the operating room allowed my husband to bring our son to me for a quick meet-and-greet and photo. His raisiny face didn’t quite graze mine, but it was the closest I got to “immediate” skin-to-skin time. He stopped crying the moment he saw me, but the team in the OR quickly whisked him away to wait with my husband while they finished piecing me back together and monitoring my vitals.
The timestamp on my photos tells me that I didn’t really get to hold my son until two hours after he was born. Throughout my life, I have heard that no moment can compare to the birth of your first child. And yet, for almost two years, I felt literal pain in my heart and a lump in my throat whenever I looked at those pictures.
I had a second chance to advocate for the birth I wanted
Sixteen months after my son was born, I learned I was pregnant again. Our kids would have the same birth month, but I wanted a different birthing experience this time. I chose to stay with my same OB/GYN – I liked his bedside manner, even if I felt upset about the way my birth went. I was willing to give the practice another chance, and following my doctor’s recommendation, we scheduled a C-section.
During this pregnancy, I no longer cared about being easy or chill. I looked into birth options and wrote an advocacy plan for myself. This included having a gentle C-section: using a clear drape so that I could see my child at the same time as everyone else, and skin-to-skin within an hour of birth.
I learned about these options from a midwife at the hospital, who I had interviewed on a work assignment. I wondered why my first care team didn’t offer these accommodations, but this new knowledge became the foundation for self-advocacy.
I finally told my husband how much our first son’s birth weighed on me — not because I felt “shame” over having a C-section, but because I felt completely separated from the process.
In the moments after the birth, everyone else got to enjoy the baby I carried, while I just lay on the table, unable to experience those precious early moments. I told my husband that I was grateful for a happy, healthy child, but that I wasn’t happy or emotionally healthy. I asked my husband to support my new birth plan, and he agreed immediately. I also hired a doula to help me advocate for a gentle C-section.
At an OB/GYN appointment about a month before my C-section, I told the people-pleaser in me to get lost and I spoke my truth. I told my doctor that I couldn’t stand that I’d been the last person in the room to see my son or that it took me two hours to hold the child I carried for nine months.
My doctor paused, apologized, and told me he’d speak with the team scheduled for my upcoming birth. I left the appointment not knowing what would happen, but I felt lighter than I had felt in 23 months. Two days later, I was told that as long as I was healthy, I could have the gentle C-section I craved.
My second birth wasn’t perfect, but it was healing
My water broke at 38 weeks and 5 days, the exact time I’d gone into labor with my first. It was two days before my scheduled C-section, but my baby had decided to choose their own birthday.
When we got to the hospital, I learned my doctor wasn’t on-call, and I’d have someone completely unaffiliated with the practice perform my C-section. I made it known that I wanted skin-to-skin and a clear drape. I was persistent. My husband was, too. When the nurse walked in with the blue drape, I asked again for a clear one.
This time, as the doctor lifted the baby out of my body, I could see. “Boy!” I said.
I asked to hold my son, but time went by, and I grew impatient. “It’s only been five minutes,” the doctor said, but we both knew it had been longer. I spoke up and a nurse listened. She pulled the doctor aside out of earshot from me and came back with my son in her arms. It wasn’t immediate skin-to-skin, but it was within the first 30 minutes. We got a golden half-hour, and the nurse helped us latch. It felt right.
Is there a “right” way to birth? Of course not. However, you’re allowed to have personal preferences about how you want your birth to go — and to inform your doctor of them. You’re not “being difficult.” You’re pushing for informed consent, which everyone deserves when their body is involved.
Things still may not go exactly the way you’ve planned that they will. They didn’t for me — twice. The key difference is that I knew I had all the information on my options the second time. I held my team accountable and held my son within a half hour. I can live with that.
Now, I look at the timestamp on my second child’s birth photos and smile, knowing I made it happen. I now view my first birth as a learning experience that helped me step into my own power. It fueled a second chance that healed me.
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