If you tell someone you are planning an unmedicated birth, you are met with a grin and nod in that "uh-huh, you are going to be begging for an epidural" kind of way. If you say you are planning an epidural, they wax poetic about the joys of unmedicated birth. Everyone has an opinion on your birth, and it is almost always going to be the opposite of yours.
It was only some years after the birth of my son that I began to be really intrigued by the idea that there could've been someone in the room with me to speak when I could only growl. Don't get me wrong, my midwife Susie was amazing, but she was busy doing midwife-y things like checking blood pressure and filling in paperwork and unwrapping the cord from around my son's neck: um, yes please.
It was the Fall of 2005, when I was four months postpartum with my now 11-year-old son that I was brought to my knees with the dark days of winter and the biggest struggle of my life, postpartum depression. The days began to feel longer and more daunting as I crept into a depression due to imbalanced hormones.