I see that you’ve recently birthed an offspring whose gender you are not disclosing to anyone outside the family to avoid putting any pressure on the wee bairn. Good on you.
As a childless, single woman who is wasting her fertile years, I understand that we can no longer see each other socially because there is just no way for me to comprehend how difficult the life of a mother truly is. I’m sorry that I have failed you as a friend. But since we met at the grocery store tell me all about how horrible your life has become, my empty uterus needs that pep talk.
Before you spill your guts, again, please consider the following things. Not everyone deserves to know the heroics of your journey to motherhood.
You may feel a little guarded at first so start with only the people you are closest to. A public Facebook post is a great start. Go into detail, use the video your videographer shot and then follow it up with the photo your doula took of that time when you were crowning. These are your most intimate friends, they deserve the most intimate details of your miracle escaping your body.
For those old people you must introduce your baby to and are too behind the times for Facebook, go with a full scale reenactment. Remember women of a certain age popped their babies out whilest under twilight sedation, they will seem horrified, but that is out of jealousy. They too wish to describe how nipple stimulation really got things going before they hypno-orgasmic-water birth, but they don’t remember.
If you are sharing with a group of men, try before and after pics. Men are very visual, they must see.
Did you see what I did there? Did you?
When telling the story you have to decide on the mood of the story, choose an emotion. Fully invoke that emotion every time you tell your magical story.
You may want to cry “happy” tear when regaling the bagger at the grocery store with your harrowing tales of defecation. But you need to be able to summon those tears every time.
Maybe you’ll go with anger because your doctor insisted on cutting your precious from you after 52 hours of labor. You know your uterus is just not right now, that damn doctor ruined you!
Pride also work. You pushed that 14 pounder out of your very own vagina, so what if you were torn beyond repair. You did it. You had beat the odds. And now you have a cloaca, like a bird, as your badge of honor.
Maggie had her twins in a sweat lodge during a retreat. Grace popped her monster out in the car while she was driving herself at highway speeds to the hospital. The doctor had to punch Amanda’s prolapsed reproductive system, in its entirety, back into her body.
You have to one up these women.
Go with a tale of ease: you didn’t even stop drinking your coffee the birth was so easy. Or go with a tale of terror: the hospital burned down around you while you were on your birthing ball.
Make it a winner.
Everyone says “when they placed him on my chest I forgot all about the pain”. You might be lying.
You could explain that despite your ruined nethers you wouldn’t change a thing. You’d probably be lying.
You could go with “that’s how this motherfucker came out”, it’s believable but unmotherly.
What ever you go with make sure your audience knows that you are the best birther in the world, ever, and your kid is the best, cutest, smartest, kid there ever was, is, shall be. Amen.