Should I Have a F***birth?

Here's my honest opinion

Should I have a f***birth?

I get this question all the time, accompanied by various personal details, like:

I’m a broke single-mother battling depression while living in a yurt—should I give birth alone?

I have a tilted uterus and fibromyalgia, should I give birth in my living room with only my cat in attendance?

I’ve had four violent c-sections and I’m pregnant with my fourth baby, should I just wing it this time?

I am a healthy twenty-five year old with zero risk factors and and a deep sense of trust in my body, should I fire the midwife I strongly dislike and distrust and allow birth to unfold spontaneously at home even though my husband has threatened to call 911?

For well over twenty-years now, women in every context imaginable have approached me, to ask for my opinion on the matter of the birth of their children, and until fairly recently, I used to answer the question with a reserved and conservative and highly reasonable (or so I thought)— “you should absolutely do whatever is in alignment with your values, priorities, beliefs, and risk calculus.”

But, things have changed—the world has changed, I’ve changed, my perspective on birth-culture has changed, and so I’m going to tell you what I really think, at this point in my life.

My response, now, to the question of whether or not you, or any woman should consider (let alone move forward in having) a birth outside of the sanctioned parameters of medical oversight is,

Dear God, No.

Absolutely not.

Please, to each and every one of you, no matter your circumstances, my answer really is—please don’t.

Please don’t even think about giving birth anywhere but the hospital. Get the thought right out of your pretty little head.

I promise—with the utmost sincerity, no joke—my official and unofficial and forevermore stance and the advice I will give to every pregnant woman who ever wonders aloud about birth in my presence, is I highly recommend that you do NOT attempt a homebirth.

In fact, please don’t ask me anything about birth at all, whatsoever.

Just because I’ve given birth to eleven children of my own and had three miscarriages at home with no involvement with medical professionals and just because I have supported hundreds of women in a multitude of ways over the years in navigating birth choices and just because I wrote a bestselling (*Amazon* bestselling, mind-you—not, like, a real bestseller, just a bestseller on Amazon, right here) does NOT mean I know anything at all about birth.

Please, to all of you—please go straight to your local obstetrician and tell them Yolande sent you.

I’ve learned my lesson. I really get it now, finally.

***

Just the other day, a pregnant woman reached out to me with a luscious description of her mucous and asked me—Is this normal?

And I replied with, How the heck should I know? Probably not. Truthfully, almost nothing is normal. Please go ask your doctor, and not me.

At long last, I comprehend that birth is—according to those who make the rules and write the scripts and pull the strings and settle the scores and who have the power to elevate or decimate reputations at the wave of a hand or an algorithm—a medical event, and an experience to be surveilled and monitored and checked and balanced.

Let’s face it: many women just aren’t built for birth—that’s what the first and last gynecologist I ever went to told me when I was 17 years old, two years before I became pregnant with my first child.

He informed me authoritatively that my hips were just too narrow to ever be able to give birth normally, and that sadly I would have to have c-sections. (I share this story in my book, PORTAL: The Art of Choosing—that memoir and philosophical treatise on birth, a topic I know nothing about).

The gynecologist wasn’t wrong, (obviously!). The fact that I ended up giving birth eleven times at home without a medical professional present was pure luck. A fluke. An abberation.

It was basically miracle-adjacent that all my kids survived. But this doesn’t therefore mean that my babies didn’t almost die, which makes me reckless, while also making that gynecologist (and everyone else who knows how dumb I am) …ultra-correct, in a quantum sort of way, you know?

Here’s the thing: if you decide to ignore me now that I’ve finally come to my senses, and you choose to deviate from what is rightly viewed as the only normal and morally virtuous way of giving birth (which is hopsital birth, to be clear) you will not only be seen as nutty, irresponsible, weird, “unsafe” and a liability to yourself, your children, and society, but most significantly, your irregular choice will be interpreted as a sign of your belief in your own superiority. And that’s really the ultimate taboo.

That you are stupid and wrong to give birth at home is, of course, a given. But especially considering how stupid and wrong you are, the most unacceptable thing is having any degree of confidence in that stupidity and wrongness. The blatant self-assuredness, in spite of your defective reasoning, makes right-thinkers especially uncomfortable.

***

So. If you’re anything like most people (and chances are, you are), I strongly suggest that you do the appropriate thing and head to your nearest hospital.

And if you’re not like most people…

Nah. You probably are.

Not convinced? Let’s put it this way:

What if something does goes wrong?

Because it probably will.

Who are you going to blame, then, when things fall apart?

If you idiotically decide to grunt your spawn out in the back yard or the bathtub or in your neighbour’s treehouse and someone dies and you don’t have a dimwit stooge of a midwife or “full-spectrum doula” or “bIrThKeEper” present to take the fall, they’re all going to blame you.

You know that, right?

(“They” being your extended family, your social circle, experts and professionals, medical staff, and the media).

Even if it’s you who dies—heck, even if you attempt to give birth at home and end up dying in the hospital after who knows what kind of “treatment,” you received following the transfer—they’ll likely blame you, posthumously, unless there’s someone else they can condemn.

And they’ll be absolutely justified.

Because…c’mon. No one in her right mind, in this day and age.

When something goes wrong (and it probably will), and you don’t have someone handy to incriminate, you could always blame Ina May Gaskin, but her public image has already been tarnished by the mob, and at this point, she’s really too old to be made a proper example of (again). Let’s not flog a dead horse, here.

You could blame Janine Parvati Baker, who coined the term “birthkeeper” and who advocated for unassisted homebirth back in the 80s and wrote countless books on the topic, but she’s for-real-dead, and that’s no fun.

You could blame Instagram, I guess. But what would that do? You could try blaming God, or biology, or chaos, or the wrath of Kali, but your best bet is still probably to blame Emilee Saldaya—that one’s a real menace. (And I hear she’s having a sale on her flagship program, right here—I know. How dare she? Disgusting).

Seriously though, just calm down, get off your high horse, stop being so uppity, and take the epidural.

Now, some people will, doubtless read this and say “Ah, see—there she goes again, shrewd and wily as always, employing the old *reverse psychology* method” —being sarcastic just to get a rise, to make a scene, to “rage-bait,” with the intent to influence the most vulnerable women into doing the opposite of what she suggests, because her vibes—her aura—is just so magnetic. Witness the hold she has over her victims!!

It’s possible, isn’t it? I guess you’ll never really know.

And yes, I am hilarious, and you are being entertained—aren’t you, in spite of yourself—even if you do hate me, fear me, envy me, whatever.

But guys—jokes aside—I am so very serious.

At one point I thought women *wanted* to take responsibility for themselves, and to experience freedom. But it turns out—spoiler— that, overwhelmingly, they don’t.

I’ll lay it out this way (not to be harsh): I want nothing to do with you if you’re pregnant and you’re looking for my opinion on your imprudent life choices.

Please just go to the hospital. It’s not worth the risk—the many risks.

Please don’t try to give birth at home. It will probably end badly for all involved. Your neighbours will look at you funny, your mother will be embarrassed, your brother-in-law will talk about your cervix at the office.

Please don’t think you can just have a homebirth and then think you’re powerful or special or anything.

Don’t fool yourself into believing your glorious homebirth will grant your kid some kind of connection to the creative energy of life or God. That’s crazy.

Being born without trauma is basically a handicap.

Sobriety is weird.

Healthy people are freaks.

No one likes a person who takes responsibility.

I was wrong about almost everything.

Just make it easy for yourself and go to the hospital.

You’re welcome!

Yo