Sunday Scribblings--The Unspoken Competition

There exists in today's culture a competition so fierce, with competitors so driven, and so exclusive, in which men cannot even hope to participate and women have been accused of cheating for the title. It's a competition which is never advertised, and no one is to ever call it such. Its ostensible purpose is to help each other, to offer a sense of camaraderie and fellowship. Don't be fooled. It's a competition. It's the Childbirthing Championships.

When I got pregnant at seventeen, I didn't tell anyone for five months. Part of it might have been trying to avoid women of all walks of life telling me I was going to hell and that I should give that baby to a family who could raise it right, but most of it was self-preservation. I had seen women all but eat each other for the title of Most Death-Defying Delivery, and when they spy a pregnant belly, they seem drawn to it by some unnamed force, to tell their horrific, harrowing tales of painful parturition. The longer I could avoid that the better. Invariably, though, they found me. Each woman of Prima Gravida status or higher had a story to tell me, but not to scare me or to outdo some other woman of equally noble character; no, they were there to help me, to let me know what to expect.

I'm calling Bullshit. I'm now a member of the Multi Gravida Club, and I now have a story to tell, too. I KNOW that it's all about the competition. And everyone has a different strategy. Who went the longest without an epidural? (For the record, the epidural is my friend.) Who labored longer at home before going to the hospital? Who drove themselves to the hospital? Who was in such pain they passed in & out of consciousness, having Frida Kahlo art-inspired visions? Who endured pain and panic and delivered their baby at home on a holy rug with no pain relief but a midwife's comforting whispers?

I'll own up. I'm in. My story is easily as worthy of Childbirth Champion status as someone else's. My childbirth story. Let me tell you it.*

*I'll tell you later. Just know that it involves 38 hours of action, adventure, suspense, pain, blood, and gore. I'm in it to win it, peeps.

Comments

[Herb]

I passed a kidney stone a few months ago. if I imagine it weighing over eight pounds, I'd probably pass out from the pain.

[Vicki]

Thanks for coming by my blog...

I can add acouple of stories to the child birth competition!! *LOL*

[Rob Kistner]

Great post... I fathered three children in my life -- and was in the the delivery room for the entirety of all three adventures. Each was very different, but they all had one thing in common... in all three I was damned glad it wasn't me giving birth (and I've passed 7 kidney stones in my life). Props to the ladies who labor!

Incidentally -- beautiful eyes!

[Mad Kane]

Ha! I never thought of it as a competition, but it certainly makes sense.

[gautami]

Some post. It has a wealth of meaning!

[Devil Mood]

"Who was in such pain they passed in & out of consciousness, having Frida Kahlo art-inspired visions?"

hahaaha that was funny (well, to read, of course!). That is such a silly competition. But I think it goes on, later becoming who has the coolest kid, the smartest pupil, the most successful children, etc..It really annoys me.

[Skyelark]

tee hee.

on the opposite end, there's sadly a competition too on who had the worst miscarriage.

[susiej]

Great point. I found myself doing the same thing, comparing my performance in the delivery room -- and this really wasn't what was in my heart.

[Tickled Pink]

You go girl! I always say that they don't announce the names of the women who don't get the epidural over the intercom. Do waht's best for yourself.