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I grew up in a household where the word “modesty” was not in our vocabulary. Our upstairs hallway was lined with nude black and white photographs, and my parents’ bedroom was a gallery of female nude paintings courtesy of my great-grandfather. To say the least, all my more reserved` friends would cringe and walk through the upstairs like a horse with blinders on to avoid confronting these naked figures. I, however, just accepted it as completely normal. I’ve never been shy about discussing my bodily functions, sexuality, etc. thanks to this liberal upbringing where nudity was a common occurrence and it wasn’t unusual to pee with the door swung WIDE open. One would think that this childhood would have prepared me for the joys of pregnancy and childbirth where your body is completely outside your control and you’re constantly required to let all sense of dignity and modesty fly out the window in front of complete strangers. ONE WOULD THINK!

Four weeks after the au natural delivery of my whale-of-a-daughter (9lbs!) with back labor, I’m still horrified by the number of people that bore witness to the most difficult, intense experience of my life. One where I writhed and screamed in pain through each contraction, pooped while pushing, tore as she entered the world, and popped an astounding number of blood vessels in my face during the process… all naked and spread eagle. To say the least, I did not birth gracefully.

To be honest, I can’t imagine that many women DO birth gracefully, but I just wish the entire birthing process and all its lovely little details was something that was talked about more openly. Apparently, most women poop during labor. A heads up would have been appreciated! Apparently, women bleed and pass golf ball sized blood clots for weeks after labor all while rocking a foot of padding between their legs cradled by net underwear. Again, could have used a heads up. And apparently, the first bowel movement after vaginal delivery is a fear-inducing event that requires coaching by my already traumatized husband. Why was there no warning?

Each and every person is here on this earth because some woman bravely and probably, ungracefully, welcomed him or her into the world. So why is childbirth still such a mystery? Looking back on the experience, I am incredibly grateful for the presence of not only my husband, my partner of almost six years, my little sister, the woman who knows me best in the world, but also my doula (A whatta? Medulla oblongata? It’s okay. That response is tres typique!), an amazingly rational, experienced birth coach who guided me through the terrifying process that is labor and delivery and made it a little less scary and more manageable. I wish every woman knew about the service, support and EDUCATION that a doula could offer her. Hands down, hiring a doula was the best decision I made during my pregnancy, and I would recommend every pregnant woman do likewise. While there were still some surprises on D-day, I know I was far more prepared and educated thanks to her guidance. Bless you, Tracy Hartley!

To learn more and for help finding a doula in your area visit www.dona.org, Doulas of North America.