In my quest to counteract the gradual transformation of my body into something resembling a retired wrestler, I enrolled in a ‘Yoga for Pregnancy’ class when I was about seven months along. I felt a surge of anxiety, knowing I had never attempted yoga before, nor had I ever considered myself “graceful.” Pregnancy certainly didn’t help matters.
More than one person had compared my physical prowess to that of a mule plowing a field, or Grimace devouring chili cheese fries. However, what better time to pursue fitness than during the seventh month of pregnancy? This was my foray into something “crunchy,” and I tried to maintain my composure. The class was led by a spirited 60-something former hippie, and it began with introductions: our names, due dates, and the names of our Doulas.
I didn’t have a Doula, but as the first to speak, I wanted to fit in. So, I blurted out a name that popped into my head – Betty Baker. I had developed an obsession with pastries during my pregnancy.
In our second class, we moved on to a list of DVDs available for borrowing from our instructor, all focused on the “natural” birthing experience: Labor… The Best Time Ever, Epidurals are for Quitters, Your Doctor: The Villain, How to Birth Like an Animal, and Orgasmic Birth.
I couldn’t help but laugh, appreciating her dark sense of humor. When no one joined in, I quickly stifled my amusement, realizing she was serious. It was as though she had just delivered the daily weather forecast. Orgasmic Birth? Not a single reaction. Everyone nodded in agreement as if those terms were perfectly compatible. But they aren’t. They shouldn’t even be mentioned together.
Then, our instructor began sharing her own experiences regarding that very concept: experiencing pleasure while giving birth. My stomach twisted. I fervently hoped this was information she had never revealed to her son.
While much of me felt repulsed, I couldn’t deny a sliver of curiosity. When I recounted the tale to my husband, he was equally intrigued. It took me the entire six weeks of class to muster the courage to borrow Orgasmic Birth. We eagerly placed it in the DVD player without even taking off our coats.
What followed was one of the most bizarre moments of my life. My husband’s expression shifted from excitement to horror as he envisioned something entirely different. Any hopes of erotic content were quickly dashed by the sight of swollen, hairy women with engorged nipples groaning and moving in a questionable pool of what looked like muddy water. Yes, these women seemed to be experiencing pleasure while giving birth, and it was a sight that was impossible to erase from memory.
They were in inflatable pools in their living rooms, some even outside in their backyards for all to see. I could just imagine neighbors peering out their windows, only to quickly shut the curtains in disbelief.
Some pools were adorned with cartoon fish, which only added to the absurdity. Family members hovered nearby with strained smiles, capturing it all on camera. I thought to myself that these women were doing this completely sober, and Thanksgiving dinner was bound to be awkward. I was captivated; it was like witnessing a train wreck—I couldn’t look away. My mind struggled to process the chaos unfolding on screen.
Meanwhile, my husband was nearing a breakdown. In a final act of desperation, he picked up the remote, turned off the DVD, and flung it across the room to ensure it remained off. We sat in silence for the next ten minutes, then without a word, we got up and went to lunch as if nothing had transpired.
We never discussed it again. I wanted nothing to do with the idea of orgasmic birth, and I couldn’t bring myself to make eye contact with the instructor afterward. A few months later, I gave birth in the most clinical, painful, and unromantic manner possible. And that, my friends, was the best gift I could ever give my daughter.
For additional insights on pregnancy and conception, check out resources like UCSF’s Center and explore fertility boosters for men to enhance your journey. If you’re looking for a delicious treat, don’t miss out on these banana muffins for back-to-school.
Summary
In a light-hearted recounting of her experience with pregnancy yoga classes, Emily Johnson humorously navigates the absurdity of discussing “orgasmic birth.” Through her unexpected journey of self-discovery, she ultimately embraces the reality of childbirth, finding joy in the unadorned truth of her experience.