No Shame Here: The freedom in learning to laugh at yourself

 

I was 8 days overdue, when I had my first baby.  8 days, people.  It may as well have been a year.

I was due the day before my husband’s birthday and we wondered if he and our new baby might share the day.  But the day came and went with no baby.

I was due six days before Easter and I decided months earlier that I would be skipping Easter that year.  I pictured myself nestled at home with my new baby, surrounded by new baby things, celebrating new life like never before.  But Easter came and went, and I was still pregnant.

I wish I could tell you I endured this beautifully, but I was so excited to become a mama and meet this baby and so excited to not be pregnant any longer, that I was quite irritable in those overdue days.

It was finally decided that I would be induced.  My first-time-mama self had no idea what that meant, really, but if it resulted in me having a baby and not being pregnant any longer, I was all in.

When I arrived at the hospital the process didn’t turn out to be nearly as exciting as I had hoped.  We’ll try this pill.  Go for a walk and we’ll check on you in a couple hours.  So this is what having a baby looks like?  Traipsing up and down the halls of the hospital all morning.  Really?  I wasn’t loving this process.

On one of my obligatory walks, I rounded the corner of the hallway and saw a couple of people down near the other end, checking out a room.  A quick glance revealed her protruding belly, somewhere around 6 months protruding, I guessed.  You’ve seen pregnancy at that stage, no?  The adorably round baby bump that still fits fairly nicely under clothes. It’s the stage where mamas typically look and feel great.

As we lurched closer I realized that I recognized this girl, I didn’t know her but I had seen her before, many times.  She attended my church.  She was tiny and cute, with a wide smile and, now, this adorably pregnant belly.

I looked down quickly at my ridiculously extended middle, which only looked even more awesome in that bed sheet of a hospital gown.  My feet were sandwiched into the slippers I had brought from home and I was waddling now because that is all I could muster at 8 days overdue.  I was awkwardly pushing an IV stand, dangling the cords that ran back to my veins and all of these liquids had me feeling like the female version of the Jet Puffed Marshmallow man.  I didn’t have any make-up on because I was up at 4:30 am so I could make the trek to the hospital in time for my 6:00 appointment.  Apparently doctors like their overdue prego patients waddling the halls nice and early.

And still, just down the hall, was the cute pregnant girl from church, who, from what I could tell,  appeared to be on her hospital tour.  I started sweating a little.  I really did not want to make small talk right now.  I really did not want to walk my swollen feet and over-ripe body up to her, feeling like a complete ogre, paste on a smile and tell her congratulations.  So I did the first thing that came to mind. I hid.  Yes, yes, I did.

Of course it’s not easy to hide when you have this obnoxiously distended midsection, move the speed of a snail and are wheeling an IV cart with you, but I’m nothing if not resourceful.  I quickly located an empty hospital room and welcomed myself on in.  My husband, who was taking the walk with me, was simultaneously laughing and telling me I was crazy.  But my pregnant self was not deterred one bit by a laughing husband.  With my heart beating wild and sweat coming fast, I may or may not have threatened divorce if he did not help me hide in that hospital room this very minute.

Pregnancy makes me a little crazy.  I was pretty good for 40 weeks, but those 8 extra days did me in.

And so we waited it out in the empty room until the cute pregnant girl from church made her way on by and I waddled myself back to my own room, unnoticed.

 

 

You know, I see these same moments in my own children – moments where they get embarrassed or feel less than.  Sometimes they giggle and smile along with the rest of us, but other times they shrink back and draw in.  They don’t enjoy the giggling; they melt and want to hide.

And while I want to be sensitive to their feelings, what I really want my children to know is that it is okay to laugh at yourself.  It’s imperative, actually.  I want my kids to know that they are going to do stupid things, they are going to have embarrassing moments they are going to come up short and feel less than at times, but the bravest thing you can do in that moment is to smile, to laugh, and keep right on going.

Messing up isn’t anything to be embarrassed about.  It’s normal.  Sure we make mistakes and feel silly.  That’s normal.  Sometimes we look kind of ridiculous and make a fool of ourselves.  Normal.   If we are pursuing a life of perfection or are only pleased when we pull something off perfectly, we are denying our humanity and setting ourselves up for a life of continual disappointment.

One simple ticket to joy is being able to laugh at our own inadequacies, to see beauty in our growing and changing and messing up and find courage to own where we are in the process.  To keep right on going.

I want my home to be a breeding ground for that; a breeding ground for feeling embarrassed and laughing it off.  A breeding ground for making mistakes and being okay with that. A safe place for laughing at ourselves.  It’s okay to get embarrassed, but there is no shame here.

Oh, and that cute girl from church who I hid from at the hospital?  She later became a good friend of mine.  A few years ago I was brave enough to tell her about the time I hid from her.  And, thankfully, we’re both able to laugh about it now.