Most shy people cherish their privacy. I can’t think of any greater invasion of privacy than giving birth.
When labor first begins, there are spaces between the pains where you can catch your breath, and you think maybe you can pull this off like a lady; suffer in silence and maintain a shred of dignity.
But it overruns you; the pains get harder and last longer, and suddenly there is this huge object in your body trying to squeeze through a space that is way too small, and you know that when and if this thing finally comes out, it is going to drag all your guts out with it.
And there you are, under the bright lights, center stage with your privates hanging out for all to see, and all you can think is, I’ve got to get this OUT of me!
The birth of a baby is a miracle; don’t get me wrong. I still get choked up when I see a brand new person come into the world. Only nine months before, it was a single cell—how does that happen?
But why in the world would a woman put herself through that experience again, if she lives through it the first time? For thousands of years, women have been enduring the pain and indignity of childbirth. AND THEN WE FORGET! God must have built that amnesia into us to keep us reproducing—a mean trick. We fall head over heels in love with this little human who just caused us so much pain, and we instantly forget how much it hurt.
Until the next time.
Labor is different for every woman, and for every baby as well. But it is all a variation on a theme: uterine contractions that intensify as they occur closer and closer together. A weird stage called “transition” as the baby’s head enters the birth canal and your body has no idea what to do with it. Then the pushing stage, which one author of a book on pregnancy described as “shitting a watermelon.” (Crude, but it is what it is.)
If you’re shy, you don’t like to “lose it” in front of people. Accept it—you are probably going to lose it at some point in your labor, and that’s OK. What happens in the labor room stays in the labor room! But here are some ways I’ve found to help you stay on top of the pain for as long as possible:
• Avoid pain meds. They don’t really do much for the pain, and they mess with your head. You will need a focused mind for the ordeal ahead. An exception would be an epidural, which is usually safe and takes away the pain entirely—except for the potential of one frightening side effect, a sudden drop in your blood pressure. If you can possibly bear it, go natural.
• Walk around during the early stage of labor, as long as you can stand it. Walking keeps you and the baby in a good position for the strenuous act of childbirth, and helps you relax.
• Meditate during contractions. For my last two babies, I had a verse from the Psalms, and focused entirely on the image of that verse as I recited it in my mind. As long as I stayed focused, I could get through each contraction, one at a time, during the first stage of labor. If you picture the contraction as a line on a graph, all you really have to do is get through the peak, and then it’s downhill from there. Introverts have an inborn ability to create vivid mental images, and if there is ever a time to use that gift, it is during labor.
• Breathing really does help. Long deep breaths in early labor help you focus and give your body the oxygen it needs for the big job ahead. Panting, shallow breaths during the end of the first stage and through transition give you a way to stay on top of the pain, which by that time is starting to feel like a runaway train bearing down on you. It is about this point that you may start to panic a little; you’re tired, the pains keep coming and they hurt more, you don’t know how much more of this you can stand. Keep reminding yourself, “One at a time, one at a time…” There IS an end to it. Focus on getting through one contraction at a time.
• When it’s time to push that baby out, you will know it. The doctor or midwife may check to make sure that the cervix is fully dilated, because you don’t want to start pushing too early. When you get the all-clear signal, then you have to push hard with each contraction--hence the word “labor.” And it hurts. I took Lamaze classes with my first baby, and somehow picked up the idea that the pain was less when it was time to push. In my case, it actually hurt much more to push, and that was the point where I “lost it.” Everyone was chanting, “Push!” and I was screaming, “NO!” because as bad as the pain was, pushing made it worse. (Your experience may be completely different, but be prepared for anything.)
Eventually, that baby is coming out. You can’t fight it. It really is better to bite the bullet and push with all your might with each contraction. It hurts, it’s scary, you can’t believe your body will ever recover from this experience…but when you hold that warm, slimy baby for the first time and look at the face of this little stranger who shared your body for nine months, you know without question that every moment was worth it.
And you’ll probably do it again.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Finding Quiet Time
It is still dark. A faint glow in the east tells me it is morning, time to get up. The house is quiet; my husband and children are still asleep. Yes! I have a little time to sneak downstairs and curl up on the couch with a cup of coffee, to pray and spend the first few moments of the day getting my heart in the right place to deal with a four-year-old and a baby.
The baby is a very light sleeper. Once she wakes up, the day will begin in earnest. So I have to tiptoe past her room, avoiding the squeaky boards in the floor. I know which stairs will creak when I step on them, so I descend like a contortionist, feeling with a toe while I hang on to the banister. Slowly, slowly, step by step…WAAAAAHHH! She heard me! She’s awake—no time this morning to sit quietly before God.
With sinking heart, I switch gears and greet my little daughter with cheery words and what I hope looks like a smile. Diapers, breakfast, another day has begun.
I remember those days like they happened yesterday, those long, long days of caring for the needs of little people. For an introvert, the constant interaction with young children becomes overwhelming. You reach a point of emotional exhaustion, but guess what? No matter how you feel, the needs of those little ones come first. (Don’t worry; the time will come when they want you to leave THEM alone.)
What to do? You are starting to feel frantic inside—the children are whining and making messes everywhere, asking for this and that, and you are the mom, and you HAVE to cope. (I remember a time when I curled up on a kitchen chair and thought, if I hear the word “Mommy” one more time I am going to lose it! But of course, I couldn’t.)
Thankfully, there is a way to meet the need for solitude and still be a good mom. Naps! Naps are wonderful, and little children need them to thrive. I sometimes hear mothers of toddlers say, “Oh, he doesn’t take naps anymore,” and I have to bite my tongue to keep from giving unsolicited advice.
Here is what worked for me: Naps were required. For the child who said she wasn’t tired, I would call it “Quiet Time.” The child had to stay in her bed, but she could look at a book or play with a toy, and I would set a kitchen timer for an hour and put it in her room where she could see and hear it. Invariably, when I peeked in her room half an hour later, she would be sound asleep. I’d reset the timer to go off later, and quietly leave to spend some time alone and catch my breath for the remainder of the day.
“Quiet Time” worked for the first five years. It gave the children an opportunity to recharge, and gave me the solitude I needed. So don’t let your toddler talk you out of naptime—he needs it as much as you do…well, maybe not quite as much!
The baby is a very light sleeper. Once she wakes up, the day will begin in earnest. So I have to tiptoe past her room, avoiding the squeaky boards in the floor. I know which stairs will creak when I step on them, so I descend like a contortionist, feeling with a toe while I hang on to the banister. Slowly, slowly, step by step…WAAAAAHHH! She heard me! She’s awake—no time this morning to sit quietly before God.
With sinking heart, I switch gears and greet my little daughter with cheery words and what I hope looks like a smile. Diapers, breakfast, another day has begun.
I remember those days like they happened yesterday, those long, long days of caring for the needs of little people. For an introvert, the constant interaction with young children becomes overwhelming. You reach a point of emotional exhaustion, but guess what? No matter how you feel, the needs of those little ones come first. (Don’t worry; the time will come when they want you to leave THEM alone.)
What to do? You are starting to feel frantic inside—the children are whining and making messes everywhere, asking for this and that, and you are the mom, and you HAVE to cope. (I remember a time when I curled up on a kitchen chair and thought, if I hear the word “Mommy” one more time I am going to lose it! But of course, I couldn’t.)
Thankfully, there is a way to meet the need for solitude and still be a good mom. Naps! Naps are wonderful, and little children need them to thrive. I sometimes hear mothers of toddlers say, “Oh, he doesn’t take naps anymore,” and I have to bite my tongue to keep from giving unsolicited advice.
Here is what worked for me: Naps were required. For the child who said she wasn’t tired, I would call it “Quiet Time.” The child had to stay in her bed, but she could look at a book or play with a toy, and I would set a kitchen timer for an hour and put it in her room where she could see and hear it. Invariably, when I peeked in her room half an hour later, she would be sound asleep. I’d reset the timer to go off later, and quietly leave to spend some time alone and catch my breath for the remainder of the day.
“Quiet Time” worked for the first five years. It gave the children an opportunity to recharge, and gave me the solitude I needed. So don’t let your toddler talk you out of naptime—he needs it as much as you do…well, maybe not quite as much!
Monday, October 19, 2009
When Shy People Reproduce
As long as I can remember, I’ve been shy. And for just about as long, I have wanted to be a mom. When the children came into my life, I found out that motherhood brings special burdens to people who are shy. Having children means having their friends around, their friends’ parents, sports coaches and teammates, teachers, and all the multitude of linkages that children collect around them.
Think about it. Your basic stance toward the world is “hide and retreat,” but you have to stand up for your kids. Every time. You need solitude, but there are always people around, little people, big people…
My four children are grown now, two are married, and there are three beautiful grandchildren to love. I have the greatest respect for each of my kids; they are unique individuals and such a joy to know as adults, though sometimes I miss the days of cuddling on the couch with a good book or discovering a weird insect together in the yard.
I learned so much during the thirty-plus years of raising them. (There is a span of 16 years between the oldest and the youngest—an extended time of active parenting.) I never got over being shy, though. Recently I found a book that made me feel a lot better about what I perceived as my “handicap” in social interaction: The Introvert Advantage: How to Thrive in an Extrovert World by Marti Olsen Laney. Understanding that the brains of introverts are wired differently from the brains of extroverts made a lot of things click into place. Reading about other people who suffered the same unease in social situations, yet still had very productive and exciting lives, gave me one of those “aha” moments that put things into perspective.
It also gave me a sense of mission. I know there are other moms out there who love their children deeply, and struggle every day with feeling shy and hopelessly overwhelmed by the social demands that come in the same package with the kids. There are introverts trying to stay sane while little people talk, talk, talk to them all day long. There are hermits hosting birthday parties for 12-year-olds. There are shrinking violets attending parent-teacher conferences. To you I say, don’t lose heart. If I could do it, so can you! Along the way, I learned many ways to cope that I hope to share in this blog. (And I welcome the ideas of other shy moms who want to share as well!)
Think about it. Your basic stance toward the world is “hide and retreat,” but you have to stand up for your kids. Every time. You need solitude, but there are always people around, little people, big people…
My four children are grown now, two are married, and there are three beautiful grandchildren to love. I have the greatest respect for each of my kids; they are unique individuals and such a joy to know as adults, though sometimes I miss the days of cuddling on the couch with a good book or discovering a weird insect together in the yard.
I learned so much during the thirty-plus years of raising them. (There is a span of 16 years between the oldest and the youngest—an extended time of active parenting.) I never got over being shy, though. Recently I found a book that made me feel a lot better about what I perceived as my “handicap” in social interaction: The Introvert Advantage: How to Thrive in an Extrovert World by Marti Olsen Laney. Understanding that the brains of introverts are wired differently from the brains of extroverts made a lot of things click into place. Reading about other people who suffered the same unease in social situations, yet still had very productive and exciting lives, gave me one of those “aha” moments that put things into perspective.
It also gave me a sense of mission. I know there are other moms out there who love their children deeply, and struggle every day with feeling shy and hopelessly overwhelmed by the social demands that come in the same package with the kids. There are introverts trying to stay sane while little people talk, talk, talk to them all day long. There are hermits hosting birthday parties for 12-year-olds. There are shrinking violets attending parent-teacher conferences. To you I say, don’t lose heart. If I could do it, so can you! Along the way, I learned many ways to cope that I hope to share in this blog. (And I welcome the ideas of other shy moms who want to share as well!)
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