I know this may sound strange. But I still grieve for my labours. Both of them.

Sometimes I lie there awake at night and think about them. I dream about them. I long for things to have gone differently. But they didn’t. They just didn’t.

7cms. That was the magical number.

Even though I felt like I was absolutely KILLING it, even when I was told that I was doing so well that I wouldn’t have to be checked again, 7cms was as far as I was ever allowed to get in my labours. There were too many risks. I just wouldn’t dilate any more. I was stuck. I was closed. I failed. I am a failure.

Of course I know that’s not quite right… My babies were both exhausted from long labours, and were both showing signs of distress. There was meconium in my waters for both. I had a fever for both. I failed both.

Read about my two labour experiences here. The Boy. The Girl.  

With my first-born son, it was disappointing when they told me that I had to have an emergency C-section, but I was totally cool with it at the same time because I knew that I would do whatever it took for my babies to arrive safely.

It was not what I planned for of course, but I was at peace with it. It only occurred to me that I had maybe “missed out” later, once my son was actually here. I had no idea what birthing a child in the traditional sense felt like. I mean, I knew what getting cut open and having a baby wrenched directly out of my insides felt like. But I will never know what birthing a baby naturally is like.

And I know that I have no control over the way things turned out, and also that I can’t in any way change what happened, but I still find myself desperately wanting to take it all back. To change it. To be able to scream with the challenge of labour and push my baby out of my own body, and to have control of it all. I wanted to be able to cry with the achievement of knowing my baby was in my arms because of me. I wanted to know that I DID THAT. My BODY did that.

But I lost all control over my body and my baby. Because I just couldn’t do it.

I must say however, that if the circumstances were the same today then of course I would make the same decisions. I would accept that my baby would need to come via a C-section, because I would never put myself or my baby in jeopardy. Never. My babies are far too precious for that.

But, I find myself lost in certain moments within my life wondering about a natural birth. Wondering what was so wrong with my body that it couldn’t do what it was put on this earth to do. Why it couldn’t traditionally birth a child the way that it was “intended” to.

Was it a physical block? Was a procedure that I had years ago where abnormal cells were burned out of my cervix leaving scar tissue behind – was…was that what caused the block? Was I too tense? Did I need to relax more during pregnancy to be able to birth my baby the “right way”?  Mind you I had never felt so relaxed in my life…

Or was it a mental block that I didn’t even know I had? Had years of negative self talk stopped my body subconsciously from doing what it was supposed to do? Did my brain stop my body from opening up enough to birth a tiny person? What What WHAT did I do wrong?

At the time of writing this, my son is 3 and a half years old, and my daughter is 10 months. And since they have been earth-side, I have spent much of my time wondering if I had made different choices over the course of my life, whether I would have had a “chance”? It makes no sense to anyone I know, unless you are stuck in my head with me.

My brain tells me that its ok, that it doesn’t matter how my babies were born as long as they are safe and healthy and I truly know that, I truly truly TRULY do. I know it, I promise I do. But my heart tells me a totally different story. It constantly aches for an experience that I will never know and can never have.

And I really DO know that I can never have it.

Because when I got to that elusive 7cms and the doctors told me it was over, that I needed to be rushed in for an emergency c-section right away, and that my body just wouldn’t do it, they also chose that very moment to tell me that I would not be able to try for a natural birth for any subsequent children either. It just was never going to happen for me.

So naturally I cried, I vomited, and I apologised to everyone in the room over and over and over again. I was bitterly disappointed. I felt like I had wasted everyone’s time. And it felt like I had failed everyone, when I had honestly believed that this time I would not fail.

I had longed for it so much, I still do.

The hardest part about this feeling of longing, is the bitter jealousy that comes with it.

I love all birth stories I really do. You might even say that I am slightly obsessed with them. I always pour over EVERY SINGLE DAMN DETAIL possible. But there is always a little something that happens inside when I read about other people’s labours. Something that I am kind of ashamed to admit.

I kind of hope to hear that they had c-sections too, and maybe that they struggled the way that I did. I feel a kind of desperation to know that I am not the only person who couldn’t do it. And sometimes as thrilled as I am talking to friends about what their own beautiful birthing experience was like, I feel just a little more broken inside.

I try not to let them see what I am feeling and I put on the biggest smile as I watch their faces glow with pride and joy as they tell me what happened, and as they talk about their own inner power. There is something so satisfied and confident in the way they move now… It’s beautiful to watch, it really is. It just hurts my heart a little bit.

I am even sickly jealous of the ones that cry from the trauma of their child’s birth, the ones who tore from front to back and can’t sit down, who have nerve damage and are in never-ending pain from the natural birthing experience they had. Yes I am still jealous, and my heart is still breaking. It’s so silly, I know. I don’t know how to stop this feeling of longing, of jealousy. I really don’t know how.

Because I haven’t truly experienced what they are talking about. And because I will never be able to experience it. I only felt it, felt my own incredible power for the briefest of minutes. Power which was taken away (for so many right reasons of course). And I guess I am actually kind of traumatized by that, as ridiculous as it may sound.

I used to cry in the shower whenever I would think about it. I would get so mad at my body for failing, even though it didn’t. And I still FEEL like such a failure, even though I know that I am not. Sigh. I am so conflicted.

I just feel like I have been left out of a club to motherhood. Barred at the door for having a broken vagina sigh. I didn’t have to put ice packs in my undies post birth so I haven’t really lived, you know? Even as I write these words I know I am being ridiculous. I can see that. But I just can’t unfeel all of these feels…

People tell me not to worry about it, and that I didn’t fail. They repeat every kind thing that I try telling myself every day. It doesn’t matter, you still birthed a child so who cares how they actually were born? What about the women that haven’t been able to conceive at all, or have lost babies? What you are feeling shouldn’t matter because your babies are safe, and they are here. And YOU were safe. You probably saved yourself from a worse trauma anyway, you know, at least your vagina is still intact.

And like I said before, I get that. I get it all. But it still feels shit. I still feel like I have missed out somehow on something that I will never have.

I don’t know how I will get over that. But I know I need to try.

Have you ever felt like this about your own birth experiences? Or about something else in your life? Leave a comment below and tell me all about it coz you are not alone Mumma xxx