I remember my mom telling her story of my birth from a very early age. I loved it. She had a natural labor and delivery at Lenox Hill. She said the yoga breathing my father coached her with got her through. She was so proud of herself. Thats what I loved about the story. I didn't really care how I was born, but I loved her telling of it, of how powerful she felt, and how she felt so big and beautiful and goddess like in the months following with her extra mama weight and breastfeeding.
And then there was the other part of the story, of how the hospital was awful. How she knew they tried to slip you drugs, so she fought them. How she refused an IV for fear of it. And how she threatened to leave if they tried to give her an IV. And I love her strength, but I also felt so aggravated and appalled that anyone would be harassing a woman in labor, especially my mom. So she had her natural labor, but she had to fight for it. Then she had to fight for breastfeeding too. They took me away and filled me with sugar water and I came back to her full. Then at home nursing I broke out in eczema and they told her I was allergic to her milk and to not nurse. She refused and did the elimination diet and discovered I'm allergic to cows milk and then as long as she abstained from it nursing me, I was fine. She did then go on to breastfeeding me for over a year.
That joy, that pride and strength! And my protective passion for women to birth in total support for any and all of their choices, with respect and love... for my mama, and for all of my moms.
That's why I'm here.