I wrote out my full birth story a few days after it happened. I feel this need to tell and retell it. To work through the trauma of it. To understand it. Because it’s this big moment (a 30-hours-long moment) that changed me physically, mentally, and emotionally. Because I did this amazing, powerful, crazy, painful, rip-me-apart, blood-guts-and-poop, wrecking ball of a thing. So I talk about it to anyone who will listen. So I ask my husband to tell me over and over what it was like for him. So I look at the photos from that day, at my face before and after, at my sweaty hair, at the bed and the room and the sheets and the nurses and Greg and Phoebe and Bonnie and the IVs and tubes and at that tiny perfect human who pushed his way into this world through my body.
And I’m making some comics about it too. Here are the first four pages.