Why I Don’t Want to Call My C-Section a “Belly Birth”

The latest chapter in the birthing wars.

Just when I think the “birthing wars” have gone too far, I recently learned  the term “C-section” is becoming passé. We now need a whole new way of describing a surgery that’s been happening since the time of Caesar himself. Behold, the new term, “belly birth” – the alternative way of talking about what many view as an otherwise cold, and/or invasive medical procedure. 

The “belly birth” is an attempt at giving women a more empowering way to reframe undesired birth experiences – i.e. those who feel they have been robbed of the joy of delivering an entire human through their vaginal canal. According to online trends, more women are renaming their C-sections as belly births, in an effort to take back their agency in birth experiences that felt largely out of their control, as well as to normalize C-sections. The idea being: A belly birth is something that you participate in, whereas a C-section is simply done to you. 

According to the Mayo Clinic, a cesarean section (C-section) is defined as: “the surgical procedure used to deliver a baby through incisions to the abdomen and uterus.” There are many reasons why physicians opt to go this route, including; the baby being in distress, the baby being in an abnormal position, or labor not progressing, to name a few. 

Despite these very legitimate reasons for surgery, the stigma around C-sections still persists. People sometimes point to the moms who have undergone them as having gotten away with an “easier way out” (remember the phrase “too posh to push”?); and some women who have had them feel ashamed of their own birth experiences.  

But wouldn’t naming C-sections something else – particularly something like “belly birth”, which almost sounds like a mystical event – be further reinforcing that stigma? Barriers are seldom broken when we dance around the thing people are afraid of, or when we make them more palatable to the people who don’t understand them. 

Renaming a C-section birth a “belly birth” disassociates the surgery from the birth experience. The term itself evokes an  image of a woman magically bringing forth her baby from the depths of her uterus, and out of her stomach, by sheer will. Is everyone supposed to pretend that a surgery never happened in order to get that baby out of the woman’s belly? 

Admittedly, for the people behind this movement, removing the surgery aspect of the C-section is probably the point of calling it something like “belly birth” in the first place. In their view, they would like the emphasis to be on the birth of the baby, rather than the surgery itself. But why erase any reference to the surgery that made that baby’s birth possible? There’s something about that act that reeks of shame, too. It doesn’t feel inclusive, but more like a rewriting of history.

I have had two C-sections. One was an emergency C-section: after I had labored for over 24 hours, my body wouldn’t fully dilate, and my son’s heart rate plummeted. The other was a planned section, for the same reasons I had to have my first C-section, under the advice of the doctor I trust with my life (and those of my babies). I love telling people about my C-sections, and, if they’re willing to hear them, I enjoy regaling them with the gory details of each one. I didn’t choose my first C-section, but there’s a lot about motherhood that I don’t get control over. My C-sections are my birth stories, and I am proud of them.

When you think about it, what isn’t empowering about lying AWAKE on a table, as a doctor slices into your abdomen? How can you not feel like a badass after you have lived through having your stomach opened, then rummaged around in, and then having a baby pulled out of it? And then, while your guts are still open to the heavens, you most likely have a moment with your brand new baby to pose and take a photo, because that is just how #momboss you are. You’re so amazingly tough, in fact, you get to witness your doctor sewing you back up, possibly feeling just a few tugs around on your insides, and maybe the ol’ burn of a cauterizer. That’s some superhuman sh*t. And then someone has the nerve to tell you that it wasn’t a real birth worth being proud of? That you had a “belly” birth? Ha! That’s cute.

Mamas of C-sections, I think the issue isn’t what we call the damn procedure. I think it’s the fact that we feel we need to rename it in the first place. The idea of the C-section being “less than” the vaginal birth feeds into that same comparing and competing that’s so rampant in the mom world. You know; things like how a vaginal birth with epidural is “less than” one without. Or how a birth in the hospital might as well be a back alley birth when compared to a beautiful home birth in a birthing tub surrounded by dancing doulas. You get the idea.

That’s not to say that I’d wish a C-section upon someone who didn’t want one. It is not an easy surgery to recover from. It requires support from friends or family members (or hired help) to help with the baby in order to allow your body to heal properly. It can take up to a year (or more) for your body to fully recover internally from the trauma. But a C-section is not a death. It is, in most cases, (nefarious doctors aside) a medically necessary means to a birth. 

So what if we cheered each other for having undergone successful C-section births instead of grieving over them, or worse, not speaking their name? Calling a C-section by any other name puts us at further distance from overcoming our fear, hate, or distrust of this surgery; and our ability to accept – and even embrace it.  

Photography by @tash.things.

Originally published here.

The Imaginary Hotel Room Where Mom Wishes Come True

We dreamed up the perfect Mother’s Day getaway. If only it was real.

Looking to splurge beyond the ho-hum engraved jewelry, flowers, and breakfast in bed this Mother’s Day? Give the Superwoman in your life the gift of her dreams by sending her for a night (or three) to a place where her wildest fantasies and deepest desires can be fulfilled. Give her the gift of a stay with us at: A Hotel Room Anywhere Alone Without You And The Kids.

What makes A Hotel Room Anywhere Alone Without You And The Kids so special? Guests come to us knowing that no matter which property they choose among our vast collection, they will have a room to themselves with none of you people in it. We provide a welcome escape where she can sit back, relax, and relish in an unforgettable experience of being alone without being asked to do things for goddamn everybody.

Begin the day by waving goodbye to her, and wonder briefly if this may be the last time you’ll see her sweet ass as she high tails it out your front door. Because, as both of you know, she’s about to experience the restorative effects that a stay at A Hotel Room Anywhere Alone Without You And The Kids can have. Yes, in just one night, she will receive the gift of something she hasn’t enjoyed in months, if not years: Sleep. Sweet, motherloving, stretch out in a bed without bumping into someone else’s limbs kind of sleep. Sleep that has not been interrupted by a small human. Sleep that is not punctuated by a tap on the shoulder from you, asking for a little somethin’ somethin’.

Treat her to breakfast in bed, of course – but let us take care of the mess. With many of our hotels offering room service, that special lady of yours will get to experience this iconic Mother’s Day pleasure without the spectre of the fucking mess this is all going to make in her bed (not to mention the kitchen), hanging over her.

If you want to really surprise her this Mother’s Day, get her the “Pampered Mom Package,” which includes:

• A mid-morning nap for no reason.
• That book she’s been trying to finish since she first became a mother.
• A bath in a tub with nary a naked Barbie or moldy bath toy in sight.
• A quiet morning without PJ Masks, Daniel Tiger, or Caillou as the soundtrack.

We also offer “The Full Mommy,” our most exclusive package yet. This package gets you access to some of our hotel’s best amenities and some special take-home gifts, like:

• Judgment-free indulgence into the contents of the mini bar.
• Complimentary access to HBO Go for shameless binge-watching of The Leftovers (because Justin Theroux!).
• A house that has been thoroughly cleaned when she returns home.
• Children who are grateful for her return, but who lay off the guilt tripping.

Celebrating Mom has never been more wonderful! We have hosted guests from who-gives-a-crap-nobodies to sponsored AF Influencers, and every one of our guests agrees that a night in A Hotel Room Anywhere Alone Without You And The Kids is the highlight of their year. And that’s important to us. So don’t waste any more time, and give us a quick Google.

We are located in almost every major city and offer a variety of price points and exciting add-ons to help you customize her stay. With so many options to choose from, you’ll find the perfect getaway for your very own Wonder Woman from our portfolio of A Hotel Room Anywhere Alone Without You And The Kids hotels. Give her an unforgettable day, by leaving her the motherfuck alone this Mother’s Day.

Photo by Yuni Stahl on Unsplash.

Originally published here.

How to Talk About Informed Consent with Kids

What the horrific trial of Larry Nassar has taught us.

Teaching our children about consent and their bodies has never been more urgent. Many of us have watched in horror as the details emerged in the trial of former doctor to the American gymnastics team Larry Nassar, who, under the guise of medical care, abused over 150 young women — some as young as 6 years old. It’s been a sobering parenting lesson in communication with our children, about boundaries and bodies and authority figures.

And yet, there are subtle, everyday ways we undermine the lessons we teach our children about consent — through our own actions and the actions of others, many with whom we are complicit. 

This especially hit very close to home during a recent visit to the pediatrician with my 6-and-a-half-year-old. We were at a routine annual checkup with a female doctor. While performing my son’s body exam, she was peppering me with questions about his health, and I admittedly wasn’t carefully watching what she was doing with her tools or her hands. My son was trying to get his own two cents in, as 6-year-olds often do, so I tried to remain focused on what the pediatrician was saying. Suddenly, my son shuddered, his cheeks turned bright red, and he said, “Mooooom, she just touched my PRIVATE PARTS!” 

“It’s OK,” the doctor said. “I’m a doctor.” I found myself agreeing with her, maybe to reassure him in the moment, or maybe because I was embarrassed at his outburst. “Yes, she’s a doctor,” I parroted. “So this is her job. She’s making sure all your body parts are healthy, and that includes your genitals.” 

The second I said it, I regretted it. She hadn’t alerted him (or me) to her touch, nor had she asked for permission. It wasn’t OK. And, judging by his face and how his body had tensed up, he wasn’t OK. 

As soon as we left, I explained that what the doctor had done was wrong and that I was also wrong in agreeing with her. I apologized; and I explained that she should have alerted us about her touch; that she should have asked for permission before touching; and that since it didn’t happen, I should have spoken up.

While the mind of a 6-year-old boy is often quick to move on, this experience clearly stayed with him. On the way home, he talked about it with me. At his play date, he talked about it with his friend. And at breakfast the next morning, unprompted, he talked it about it with my husband.

What happened at the doctor’s office goes against everything we try hard to teach our two boys about consent: “Your body belongs to you, and no one can touch it without your permission.” And yet, I allowed it to happen right in front of me, and worse – I was complicit in it by agreeing with the doctor while we were still in the exam room. I can’t help but think about some of the survivor testimonies in the Nassar case, in which the mothers were in the exam room with their daughters, naïve to and unaware of the abuse as it was happening. 

Of course, what happened to my son is a very, very far cry from what these women experienced at the hands of this sick criminal, but in a way, I identify with the mothers. Like them, I trust the people who are supposed to take care of my children to do their jobs in the most professional and respectful way. 

Since then, I’ve been thinking about the mixed messages I have been sending my children, and it turns out, I haven’t been so great at modeling consent with my kids. While I do tell them that no one can touch their bodies without their permission, I’ve also said, “no one, except me, Dad, your babysitters, and the doctor.” After all, there are baths to be had, tushies to be wiped and, of course, health exams to be done. But I now realize that I should have included one very important distinction: even among that elite group of people who are allowed to touch their bodies, there is still the prerequisite of, “only if you say it is OK first.”

It may seem extreme to some parents, but I am no longer taking my children’s voices for granted when it comes to their bodies and their ownership of them. I want my sons to know that their bodies are their own and that they get a say in what is done to them, whether the person doing them is a doctor, a dentist, a babysitter, or even me. 

Now does this mean that I will be asking my three-year-old his permission to wash his hair at bath time? No. But I will tell him what is about to happen, so that he understands that prior to someone touching him, there can and should be a conversation. And if he says no, I’ll give him the soap, and let him have a try at it!

In the future, I will not ignore my child’s questions at his own doctor’s appointments, and I will be wary of the doctor that doesn’t read a child’s cues when they seem fearful and instead continues to examine their body. I will choose my child’s comfort and my own over the desire to finish an appointment. I will ask the questions my kids don’t have the ability to ask yet, because I am their advocate, and that is my job. At the next checkup, I will say, “Can you walk us through what you’re going to be doing today?” because being in a doctor’s office is scary for a lot of people, especially for children. 

Cases in the news like that of Dr. Nassar remind parents the scary truth that abuse of trust can come from even the most respected of people in our children’s lives. We must be consistent in our messages to our kids about what is and what is not OK with respect to their bodies so they know when to speak up – as my son did in that moment on the exam table. And we must listen when they do.

Originally published here.