North Star Writers Group

If I want to scare myself, I have lots of options. I can go to the video store and rent any number of thrillers. I can watch The Ring again – creepy! I can even crawl under a makeshift tent in my bedroom at night with a flashlight and a Stephen King book just like I did in the fourth grade.

What I didn’t know I could do was tell people that I’m pregnant.

That’s right. Tell people you’re pregnant and all of a sudden, the horror stories start coming at you. People have no problem discussing levels of pain that most certainly go above and beyond that of a masked Jason sticking a knife in your heart on Friday the 13th. They tell you of a nurse or a doctor who was as incompetent as George Costanza was as a marine biologist.

The list goes on. In fact, from the stories I’ve heard, I’m not sure even the best movie actors and directors could depict the supposed horror that is labor.

It’s not that I believe any of this is going to happen to me. I have a very positive attitude and I’m trying not to be scared. But one emotion I do have is astonishment at the fact that people find these nightmare-inducing tales appropriate to share with me.

Is it because they’re all moms, and moms have an earnest need to prepare you for the worst? My mom did this, but she was sweet about it – no horror stories, just simple support. For example, I remember what she said when I tried out for the basketball team in junior high. (Keep in mind – I’m only 4’10” tall as an adult, so what was I then, maybe 3 feet?) She said, “Now honey, don’t cry when (not if) you get bad news. Remember your dad and I love you just the way you are, and besides, you’re pretty darn good at tennis!”

It would be great if some of the women I’ve spoken with could be as supportive. Don’t get me wrong – most of them are! But if we could somehow teach the labor masochists to be gentle with those of us who are fragile when it comes to any medical intervention, that would be great.

It would be much more pleasant to say something soothing like, “Now honey, you’re probably going to cry because it hurts. But remember how much we all love you and that we promise to shower you with home-cooked dinners and presents for the next four weeks afterwards.”

That sounds a little more like something my mom would say, and something I might like to hear rather than, “Whatever you do, DON’T get the epidural. It almost killed me. No, I’m serious. I knew for sure I was going to die.”

In a way, I can see where these women get it from. We live in a highly competitive society and I didn’t realize this until I was pregnant, but to many, giving birth is just that – a competition. Whoever suffers the most pain and yet survives the process is the winner. She gets to tell her story forever and ever, beating out any other woman’s story and getting the “scariest labor experience” expression of sympathy from all of her friends.

Maybe I’m the one who isn’t normal, but I find myself walking away from these conversations, even though the storytellers perceive that they’re recounting the experience for my benefit.

Here’s the thing. You are scaring me! At this point in my life, you are Jason from Friday the 13th, Michael Meyers from Halloween and Freddy Krueger all wrapped into one. And frankly, I don’t want to be scared right now. I’m not tuning you out because I’m rude; I am doing it because you are making me miserable just when I was enjoying my pregnancy the most.

My desire to stay away from you isn’t because I think labor is going to be easy as pie. I’m not dumb – just not all that strong when it comes to discussions that involve my body parts. Any of them! As a matter of fact, I fainted once when I broke a finger. And there are a lot of other people out there like me.

So, my call to all women is this. Next time a friend or acquaintance tells you she is pregnant, don’t be a Freddy. Think Freddy’s polar opposite – like maybe D.J. and Stephanie on Full House. Hugs are good. Cookies better. Beautiful stories of the baby told starting one minute after labor is over? As they say on lots of cheesy commercials – “That’s the best, so you can skip all the rest!”

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This is Column # CD8. Request permission to publish here.