In a bid to counteract the gradual transformation of my body into something resembling a famous cartoon character, I decided to join a ‘Pregnancy Yoga’ class when I was about seven months along. I felt a mix of excitement and anxiety since I had never:
- A) Tried yoga before, or
- B) Been what anyone would call “graceful.” Pregnancy definitely didn’t help with that.
More than once, friends have compared my athletic prowess to that of a lumbering animal, so I figured if there was ever a time to get fit, it was while pregnant. This was my first step into the world of holistic living, and I tried to play it cool. The class was led by a vibrant 60-something former flower child, and we began with introductions: just our names, due dates, and the names of our Doulas.
I didn’t have a Doula, but wanting to fit in, I blurted out the first name that came to mind – Betty Bake. My pregnancy cravings had turned me into a total dessert enthusiast.
In our second class, we dove into a list of DVDs available for us to borrow from our instructor. All focused on the “natural” approach to birthing: titles like Labor: The Ultimate Experience, Epidurals are for the Weak, and Orgasmic Birth. I couldn’t help but laugh, appreciating the absurdity of it all. But when the others didn’t join in, I quickly transitioned my laughter into a fake coughing fit.
Since I announced my pregnancy, I was inundated with stories from friends about the trials of childbirth, often focusing on their “battle scars.” Words like “painful” and “intense” came to mind, but “orgasmic” was never one of them. I glanced around to see if anyone else shared my disbelief. They didn’t. It seemed the instructor had just shared the weather forecast – Orgasmic Birth? No one batted an eyelash.
Then she began recounting her own experiences with that topic: the moment of birthing while, as it was described, “orgasming.” My stomach twisted in knots. I sincerely hoped she never told her son about that!
While part of me was disgusted, another part was oddly intrigued. When I got home, I told my husband about it, and to my surprise, he seemed intrigued too.
It took me the entire six weeks of the class to finally muster the courage to borrow Orgasmic Birth. The moment we got home, we popped it into the DVD player without even taking off our coats.
What followed was one of the most bewildering experiences of my life. My husband’s initial excitement quickly morphed into horror as he absorbed the sight of swollen, hairy women engaging in what appeared to be ecstatic expressions while surrounded by questionable water in small inflatable pools. Yes, they seemed to be experiencing pleasure while giving birth. That’s not something you can easily forget.
Some women were outdoors, with family members watching and taking pictures, while I could only imagine the awkward conversations they’d have over Thanksgiving dinner. I was entranced, unable to look away from this bizarre spectacle. My husband, however, had reached his limit. In a panic, he grabbed the remote and shut off the DVD, tossing it aside as if it were on fire. We sat in silence for a solid ten minutes, then got up and went to lunch as though nothing had happened.
After that experience, I completely distanced myself from the concept of orgasmic birth and could never look the instructor in the eye again. A few months later, I gave birth in the most clinical, painful, and decidedly non-sensual way possible. And honestly, that was the best gift I’ve ever given my daughter.
For those exploring their own pregnancy journey, you can find helpful insights and resources at Mount Sinai and Make a Mom for a deeper understanding of home insemination. If you’re curious about more tips and stories, check out this blog post.
Summary:
This humorous recount of a pregnant woman’s experience in yoga class highlights the absurdity of the concept of “orgasmic birth.” Despite the shocking and bizarre realities presented, the author ultimately embraces the traditional, clinical experience of childbirth, which she finds far more relatable.