Flowers Fall: A Woman's Life

by Bethany Saltman, April 27, 2010

This past weekend a small group of moms gathered in my living room to celebrate another mom who is about to have Baby #2. Up in these parts, a Native American-inspired “blessingway” is often offered as a more meaningful alternative to the onesie-fests new moms often receive. Not that clothes and other gifts aren’t awesome, and freely given when someone has a baby—they certainly are, as well as a ton of home-cooked meals—but a blessingway is a quieter way for women to be together, offer their love and support to the woman about to give birth, and do groovy things like introduce ourselves as daughter of so-and-so, and mother of so-and-so, calling together the generations of mothers who came before us.

This was my first blessingway, and I was nervous to be hosting it, a little uncomfortable with the potential flake-factor, to be honest. But I was excited to check it out, and—better yet—in the comfort of my own home. Turns out, I was really moved by the whole thing. One of the coolest parts was when we all gave our pregnant friend the bead we had chosen for her to string together into a necklace, infused with the strength of her female friends. We went around the room and described why we chose this bead for this woman, which led, as it should, to passionate odes to the mom-to-be, reminding her that she has what it takes to push the baby out.

I have always had close girlfriends and I’ve never been shy to depend upon them. But when I had my baby, I was the first of my friends to take the plunge. Of course I got loads of love from all of them, (not to mention plenty of Holy s**t, look at your belly!!!!) They just weren’t in a position to inspire confidence in me as a birthing creature. And neither was I.

Looking back at the difficulty that I did, in fact, have giving birth, I can see now that at least part of the problem was the medicalization of the birthing process; from being induced, to the epidural, to the discovery that I was allergic to pretty much every drug they gave me, to the C-section, to the infected wound, it was one intervention after another. So, that was a real drag. It is important to say, though, that I don’t really feel like a victim because I never, ever wanted a home birth, a drug-free birth, or any other kind of birth that involved feeling the pain more than absolutely necessary. I chose that medical model. I am pretty tough in lots of ways. My idea of a good time is sitting still, for days and days, through every possible state of body and mind. I can tell a teenager behind a cash register to get off his phone and focus. Fearless! But when it came to having a baby, I was terrified of the pain, and ready to give it up for the doctors. I had no interest in practicing that part of being a woman.