This is part uno in my new series on The Ugly Politics of Parenting. Won’t this be a fun theme!?

Yesterday I sat down to type out the first draft of my birth plan, the culmination of lots of weeks worth of reading, researching, and talking to L/D nurses, midwives and doulas. A lot of my research wound up really turning me around positively on a number of issues. For instance, Matt and I think that next time around we’re going to attempt to have a home water birth if it’s not cost prohibitive (and if this first experience doesn’t change our minds); a type of labor and delivery I used to think was super crunchy crazy and quite possibly dangerous.

But just as I did more reading and learned more about how this natural process has always worked and how we have augmented it over the years, I became absolutely disgusted by parents. Yes, you heard me correctly. I had been forewarned, and had often seen with my own eyes that parents are the most judgmental self-destructive species alive. Mothers are made to feel inferior if they are unable to breastfeed. Women who experience drug-free births get off on thinking they’re Superwomen. Midwives are painted as tribal African medicine-men and OBs as heartless 9-5ers whose own nurses are frightened of them. And then there’s attachment parenting, and Ferbering, and stay at home moms versus working moms, and parents that wind up eating other parents alive at Chuck E Cheese playdates.

I don’t want to be a part of that. I don’t want that to be my identity. I don’t want to feel pressured to live up to a certain identity or label. I just want to do my research, make my decision, and have the freedom to change my mind. And I will change my mind. I haven’t even had the kid yet, and I’ve already changed my mind on a lot of things. And if that alienates me, then so be it. I’ll still have my best friend by my side who last night told me that he continues to be amazed at my maternal intuition about these things – quite possibly the greatest compliment he could ever give me.

So my plan has been written, and it’s a plan that I hope can be followed, but will not be devastated if it cannot. It’s based partially on my desire to allow my body the space to do what it was created to naturally do and feel the natural rush that goes along with that, and partially because I am more afraid of needles and surgery being inflicted upon me by people with multiple medical degrees and years of experience than I am of agonizing internal pain being inflicted upon me by wee little Penelope.

And I’m hoping that maybe, just maybe, I can be the tie that finally binds the two childbirthing philosophies together. Because the woman who will be saying “no” to interventions during labor as a way to experience the natural process will also say “HELL YEAH!” to general anesthesia in the event that she needs major abdominal surgery.

Call it hypocrisy, I choose to call it “reaching across the aisle.”

And with that I leave you this lovely video. Yes, I’m afraid our child will grow up with the entire Monty Python catalog if Matt has anything to do with it.

We were married five years ago today. He’s my best friend, my source of strength, and my greatest role model. I adore him, respect him, and still wonder how I made out so well.

Tonight we’re celebrating with dinner at a new restaurant, compliments of the marvellous in-rents. Then I’m dragging him to see the new Jennifer Aniston chick flick. There is also talk of dancing… just sayin. Next weekend we’re heading away for a weekend in the mountains and some time away from the construction zone that is our house.

I couldn’t love this guy more. Although I’m sure I will in the duration of my lifetime.

5 years from priscilla on Vimeo.

So here we are with the first ever Verbal Intent video post. I make no guarantees.

Layla: Who’s Side Are You On? from priscilla on Vimeo.