Letting Go

Hold everything in your hands lightly, otherwise it hurts when God pries your fingers open.-Corrie Ten Boom

He shakes my hand perfunctorily, wears a wry, somewhat exasperated smile as he ruffles through my paperwork.

"I can see you're one of those hands-off, 'don't-do-anything', all-natural ones," he begins, leaving out the eyeroll I can tell he is performing internally. "Forty-two weeks, forty-one...ten pounds, my God."

Two years ago I would have bristled at the implied disapproval. Now I laugh. "Well, that's why I'm here this time." I explain my history; the midwives, the birth centers, the inductions, the complications, the unplanned hospital deliveries. His reaction is pretty much what I expected; the "guess you learned your lesson" eyebrow lift. I shrug it off. "Natural birth is a great philosophy and I support it," I insist. "But for me...I can't put myself through the disappointment again. I don't know why my body doesn't seem to know how to start labor, but it's clearly not an issue of the baby not being ready. If round about February, you want to start talking about a scheduled 40-week induction, you'll find me more than willing to listen."

His shoulders relax, and he makes the notation on my chart. Seeing it there, in writing, I am able to let it go. The guilt. The bitterness. The anger. The criticism. The need to be right and show up all my naysayers.The antagonistic bias against the medical establishment. The judgmental attitude towards women who chose differently than I did the first two times. Trade the shoes, and walk a mile...

Also, the assumption that by doing everything "right" somehow this one would magically be the transforming, spiritual birth experience I so craved. It doesn't matter anymore. I will not jeopardize the well-being of another baby by clinging to an ideology. It was worth the try the first time, even the second time. But my body has spoken and I will listen.

March 26th. No wondering, no worrying. I know the risks. I've accepted them. I am at peace.