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***Update - the below photo essay is now available as a limited edition black and white paper booklet/zine. To get yours (which makes a great pro-choice conversation starter), please Venmo $8 (or more!) and send me an email with your mailing addresses. All proceeds help me with travel expenses for my upcoming artist residency in France! Thank you!***
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Before I begin, allow me to slap on some content and trigger warnings to this piece: the images I'm going to post are graphic and owned/copyrighted in full by me...please be a respectable human by not saving or sharing them outside of the context of this post. Please don't continue reading if you're uncomfortable viewing images of a human body in postpartum recovery. Additionally, I will be explicitly and honestly addressing the physical and emotional trauma that accompanied my (in)fertility, pregnancy, delivery, and postpartum journeys. Please do not scroll further if this might trigger you in any way. For accessibility, all image descriptions can be found at the bottom of this essay.
Lord, have mercy on this photo essay, as I attempt to construct complete sentences after several weeks with very little sleep. I am nowhere near my writing (or existing, for that matter) A-game right now, but as a creator whose work is traditionally steeped in the icky and painful parts of life that many folks have a hard time talking about (like grief, for example), I felt it was extremely important to document some thoughts, images, and experiences surrounding the recent birth of my daughter, River Jean Magdaleno White. Not the happy, magical bundle of joy parts (we've already shared that stuff on socials), but the ugly, messy parts that hardly ever see the light of day.
River came screaming into the world three weeks early. Though my pregnancy was "healthy" throughout, I was admitted to the hospital at 37 weeks with high blood pressure and pre-eclampsia, which can lead to serious or fatal complications for both birthing person and baby. This triggered a cascade of interventions and medications that we weren't necessarily anticipating. My lifelong anxiety did not help the situation. I trembled like a leaf for a good 24 hours.
There are a couple reasons I wanted to shed light on parts of the birthing experience that traditionally get swept under the rug. For starters, I think it's a shame that our society and culture don't typically hold space for birthing people to share their reproductive stories in full— blood, sweat, tears, and all. Perhaps the gruesome or vulnerable aspects of these stories make it challenging for folks to talk about what they experienced in any comprehensive way. Perhaps it's hard enough just to survive it, let alone talk about it. But I think it has more to do with a patriarchal system that puts limits and restrictions and shiny Hallmark filters on what we "should" feel comfortable sharing openly about the way we decide (or decide not) to grow our families. It's the same patriarchal system that wants tampons and periods and cramps to be discrete, whispery topics. You know, because if we talked about these things, someone might just have to give us actual credit for how strong and powerful we are. Someone might just have to give us actual, tangible help rather than praise in the form of platitudes. Heaven forbid.
I actually think there is a deep, underlying desire for folks who have been on any kind of reproductive or family planning (or preventing) journey to share their stories with the world; unfortunately, there just aren't many safe, supportive, affirming spaces for them to do so. When I moved through the shadowy alleys of infertility, I came across people who were wholly consumed by grief and despair. These folks struggled to get through their day to day routines while wondering if they would ever get that positive pregnancy result or great news from the adoption agency, etc. They were quick to hide their pain from the rest of the world, yet so willing to reveal it to those who had ridden the same roller coaster. When I crossed over into pregnancy territory, I encountered people who saw my growing bump as a green light— an opportunity to eagerly recall what pregnancy looked and felt like for them, even if it happened decades ago, regardless of whether or not it was a joyful or tragic experience. They just wanted someone going through it to listen to someone who had been through it. And now that I've got my motherhood membership card, my tiny child and full breasts are like a magnet to other birthing people who can't not share what it was like when they had tiny children and full breasts. To them, the sheer existence of my baby says "maybe she'll be interested in listening to this story I never get to tell."
In any other scenario, I might find such unsolicited anecdotes annoying. But where fertility and family planning are concerned, these tales are demonstrative of this massive army of mostly silent warriors who have made enormous physical, mental, emotional, and financial sacrifices in hopes of creating and nurturing new life. So many of them are simply seeking some sliver of a shared experience to give them permission to finally articulate just a fraction of their full story. Because hardly anyone—friend, family, coworker, boss, doctor— ever bothered to earnestly ask what it was like or what they needed in order to process or survive it.
I'm hoping this essay invites more wide-open storytelling around reproductive issues, permission be damned, while also encouraging a culture that is courteous and compassionate enough to hold a generous amount of space, support, and resources for the hardest and most vulnerable parts of it all. Only then will we get the full and accurate picture of what it's actually like for the people who go through it (or don't go through with it), which brings me to my second and primary motivation for writing this essay, which is: FUCK a politician who thinks they have any right whatsoever to debate or decide what a person should or shouldn't be able to legally do with their own body or reproductive decision-making. May they all be cursed with a bloody, burning crotch full of fiery piss, endlessly rupturing hemorrhoids, and a revolving door of absolutely sleepless nights.
I actually think there is a deep, underlying desire for folks who have been on any kind of reproductive or family planning (or preventing) journey to share their stories with the world; unfortunately, there just aren't many safe, supportive, affirming spaces for them to do so. When I moved through the shadowy alleys of infertility, I came across people who were wholly consumed by grief and despair. These folks struggled to get through their day to day routines while wondering if they would ever get that positive pregnancy result or great news from the adoption agency, etc. They were quick to hide their pain from the rest of the world, yet so willing to reveal it to those who had ridden the same roller coaster. When I crossed over into pregnancy territory, I encountered people who saw my growing bump as a green light— an opportunity to eagerly recall what pregnancy looked and felt like for them, even if it happened decades ago, regardless of whether or not it was a joyful or tragic experience. They just wanted someone going through it to listen to someone who had been through it. And now that I've got my motherhood membership card, my tiny child and full breasts are like a magnet to other birthing people who can't not share what it was like when they had tiny children and full breasts. To them, the sheer existence of my baby says "maybe she'll be interested in listening to this story I never get to tell."
In any other scenario, I might find such unsolicited anecdotes annoying. But where fertility and family planning are concerned, these tales are demonstrative of this massive army of mostly silent warriors who have made enormous physical, mental, emotional, and financial sacrifices in hopes of creating and nurturing new life. So many of them are simply seeking some sliver of a shared experience to give them permission to finally articulate just a fraction of their full story. Because hardly anyone—friend, family, coworker, boss, doctor— ever bothered to earnestly ask what it was like or what they needed in order to process or survive it.
I'm hoping this essay invites more wide-open storytelling around reproductive issues, permission be damned, while also encouraging a culture that is courteous and compassionate enough to hold a generous amount of space, support, and resources for the hardest and most vulnerable parts of it all. Only then will we get the full and accurate picture of what it's actually like for the people who go through it (or don't go through with it), which brings me to my second and primary motivation for writing this essay, which is: FUCK a politician who thinks they have any right whatsoever to debate or decide what a person should or shouldn't be able to legally do with their own body or reproductive decision-making. May they all be cursed with a bloody, burning crotch full of fiery piss, endlessly rupturing hemorrhoids, and a revolving door of absolutely sleepless nights.
Riv is pro-choice AF. Keep your laws off her body and mine.
We found out we were pregnant in April 2021, after four years and thousands of dollars spent trying to conceive. As a queer couple, we battled obstacles large and small trying to navigate a healthcare system that told us either overtly or covertly that we were not deserving of the same assistance and privileges as a heterosexual couple. I lost track of how many times I crossed out the word "husband" on forms and how many times some receptionist told me our insurance didn't cover some procedure or test or pill or shot. Still, we recognized and sat in our own privilege, utilizing inheritance from my mom's death as a way to afford the exorbitant out-of-pocket expenses, medications, and legal fees that came along with five failed IUI cycles and one successful embryo donation/implantation, not to mention an $1300 hospital bill for Riv's actual birth. We became professional floaters in a weird, fucked over, but luckier-than-most gray area.
I say all this to reiterate how much we wanted this child. How much of our lives, income, and physical, mental, and emotional bandwidth we dedicated to growing our family. We CHOSE River from the get-go, and it was still an incredibly difficult, expensive, and life-consuming endeavor.
I say all this to reiterate how much we wanted this child. How much of our lives, income, and physical, mental, and emotional bandwidth we dedicated to growing our family. We CHOSE River from the get-go, and it was still an incredibly difficult, expensive, and life-consuming endeavor.
Pregnancy was a beautiful time of life that I CHOSE and feel so lucky to have experienced, but it did greatly affect my ability to be "productive" and earn income, especially in the wake of the Covid-19 pandemic. The movies make it seem like you barf adorably in your work wastebasket a couple times and then get on with your regularly scheduled life, but for so many pregnant people, life changes profoundly for the whole shebang. My primary symptom (not just for the first trimester, but throughout the 37 weeks) was extreme fatigue. Thankfully, we were able to rely on my wife's income, some savings, and the support of friends and family to get us through. Because we CHOSE River, we made all the necessary adjustments and sacrifices to make space for her, and our community was kind enough to help us. I can't imagine being forced to go through a pregnancy against my will, especially without the kind of resources and support systems that were available to me. It's hard enough to go through it when you WANT to be pregnant. It's downright cruel to go through it if you don't.
Although I went into labor quite early and experienced some pretty scary health risks on the day of delivery, I was surprised and delighted that the birth itself kind of went off without a hitch. I was happily epidural'd (yes, I made that word up) and only had to push for about 15 minutes before I was suddenly bawling tears of joy and holding my slimy little baby on my chest. Wowee, we were so, so lucky. I know too many stories from too many friends whose journeys did not end like that. My greatest worry throughout pregnancy was that I and/or my baby would die during delivery. Lots of people were quick to assure me that was just my anxiety talking, but given the fact that the U.S. has the highest maternal mortality rate amongst developed countries, it's not like laboring in a hospital is exactly the safest way to spend your time. (Even less safe for non-white pregnant folks). Again, I CHOSE to live in this state of perpetual anxiety and to essentially risk my life to create new life. If someone would've forced me into that state of mind and into that hospital bed, I probably would've used my boxing skills to provide them with a hospital bed of their own.
Going into parenthood, we had an idea that we were in for a wild ride. Lots of our friends had babies in the years leading up to our pregnancy, so we had heard the cautionary tales of sleepless nights and constant feeding sessions.
Yet, as much as you KNOW what you're getting into, you don't KNOW until you KNOW, you know? This shit is fucking hard and exhausting, even on a good day. Even though we CHOSE it wholeheartedly. If it was something someone forced me into, I would consider the experience inhumane.
One thing we really didn't anticipate was how painful and difficult MY physical postpartum recovery would be. In addition to being head-to-toe swollen AF (we're talking Violet Beauregarde), I experienced multiple tears, one of which was a second degree tear of my perineum that required stitches. I also had/have hemorrhoids that won't quit. Oh, I'm sorry, is that TMI for you? Just wait.
I couldn't sit up straight for the first week or so, which made nursing quite a challenge. I couldn't stand or walk for more than a few minutes at a time without extreme pain. I initially refused painkillers upon discharge from the hospital because I didn't want to be zonked out on narcotics while trying to care for a newborn, but after about a day and a half of trying to grin and bear it, I had to ask my doctor for the hard stuff. I eventually ordered one of those gigantic pill boxes to keep track of the pain meds, stool softeners, vitamins and other supplements we bought so I could piss, poop, pump, and exist with some semblance of regularity.
Even though we grabbed what wasn't nailed down in the hospital recovery room, I still spent a small fortune on sanitary pads and other postpartum supplies, filling up our bathroom wastebasket to the brim every day or two with what felt like a landfill's worth of blood and paper products.
What I lack in aim (I have pissed and pooped and bled all over our little bathroom), I make up for with my professional underwear "sandwich artist" skills - expertly layering postpartum underwear with ice packs and sanitary napkins and witch hazel pads and burn relief spray. I have assembled hundreds of these pad-sicles and I look desperately forward to the day I don't need them anymore, whenever the fuck that might be.
As my hormones regulate, I change out of sweat-soaked underwear and clothes three-four times a night in what feels like a Groundhog Day-esque night terror of sorts. It's just an absolute Tilt-o-Whirl of burning hot and freezing cold, tits in, tits out, pjs on, pjs off, etc. Thank the heavens for both mine AND River's sake that we are fortunate enough to have a washer and dryer in our home. Though I am dreading our first postpartum SDGE bill.
Speaking of dread, for the first couple weeks, it burned so bad when I peed that no peri-bottle, pill, or prayer could alleviate the "holy-shit-i'm-about-to-pass-out" excruciating feeling of agony every time I used the restroom.
I eventually started skipping the toilet altogether and peeing in the shower instead, sobbing and holding onto the walls for dear life, praying that my legs would not buckle from the overwhelming pain.
When the swelling started to wear off, what remained (and still remains) was the feeling that someone hit me in the vagina with a spiked baseball bat. We're almost a month in, and I still have to pee and poop somewhere between sitting and standing in order to avoid an intense rush of blood and pressure from gathering for too long around the stitched up areas. It is a small victory every time I can walk to the corner of my block and back.
I eventually tried a bath because everyone goes on and on about mamas needing some "me-time," which just seems absolutely hilarious and impossible in this scenario. I'll admit, soaking in the tub for a few minutes did help with the overall soreness and pain, but there was no way to comfortably sit my hemorrhoid-afflicted ass on the hard surface of the tub. So I tried this side saddle kind of deal. Don't I just look like the picture of self-care?
So, again...all you pro-lifers out there think you have the right to force a stranger through this amount of suffering if they do not, in fact, choose and consent to go through it? Get the fuck out of here.
"Let us know what you need!" It's a common question from our gemstone of a community that has generously supplied us with a constant stream of dinner and groceries and support, bless their sweet angel hearts. The answer I keep wanting to go with is "24 hour foot rubs," but instead I just say "Thank you!" or ask for some Smooth Move tea, leaving all the foot rubs to my sweet wifey.
While healing from a major physical "trauma" (in quotes because all of this was a natural part of pregnancy/labor and I CHOSE it), I still had to figure out how to feed and care for my daughter. Given River's early arrival, our nursing experience was slightly complicated by the fact she was too tired to feed on her own and unable to latch consistently. Her weight was also a concern, which meant we had to be constantly vigilant with the time of feedings, the amount we gave her, and the methods we used to feed her, all while ALSO trying to keep my milk supply up via pumping. Thank goodness for Audrie, who stepped up in a major way to ensure that River was getting the nutrition she needed while I essentially turned into a human milk machine. With feeding and pumping happening at least every three hours, and each feeding session lasting about an hour, plus the 30-45 minutes to change, settle, and shush River back to sleep, plus the time to wash the bajillion pumping and feeding parts and pieces, plus the time to store milk, that left about 1 hour for us to try and sleep every three hours during the night. Sooooo, we were running on about 3-5 hours of sleep in those first couple weeks.
Here's a look at some of the supplemental feeding supplies the hospital sent us home with. It came with a foggy two-minute tutorial from a couple of night nurses, and suddenly we were expected to be pros at feeding River through syringes and tiny catheters. Audrie would glove up her hand, stick a finger in Riv's mouth to stimulate sucking, then we would slowly push colostrum into her mouth one measly milliliter at a time. This stage is behind us now that she has gained weight, thank goodness.
Still, her latch is not consistent so as her intake of milk increases, I work practically full-time hours at the breast pump to keep up with her demand. Is formula an option? Sure, but it's an expensive one that comes with all these shitty (and irrational, I know) feelings of insecurity and guilt that I am somehow failing River by not being able to provide for her with milk OR money. The real shame is that at this point in time, I spend more quality time with this damn pump than my own daughter. In my yuckiest moments, I feel slightly jealous that she seems more bonded with Audrie than me, who has handled the majority of feedings and changing and cuddles like a champ while I pump my life away.
I'm laying all this out, not to complain about the situation, because it is a situation I CHOSE for better and for worse, and I would never trade it for a million years. I merely want to demonstrate to folks who think pregnancy, childbirth, and parenting are these simple, one-size-fits-all, cookie cutter experiences that no one journey is the same, that complications do arise, and that NONE of it is easy unless perhaps you are made of money and can afford all the proper help and resources. Some people find out upon delivery that their babies will require G-tube feedings for life. Other birthing people aren't able to produce breastmilk at all. And on and on the list of wild scenarios goes for each family's unique situation.
All that said, you would think pro-lifers would grasp this concept and go super hard for public services that would make having and raising children easier on families. Instead of trying to pass inhumane laws that spit on the concept of consent and body autonomy, instead of standing outside of abortion clinics with hateful signs (what would Jesus NOT do?), you'd think these good, kind God-fearing folks would lobby for life-affirming things like federally mandated leave, universal healthcare, quality education, income equity, common sense gun control, and affordable access to housing, childcare, and food. You know, shit that might actually make a person wanna fuck around and have a kid.
Do programs exist to help families out? Yes, but they are incredibly flawed, hard to navigate, and practically designed to keep poor families poor. CalFresh has a savings cap of $2K, which means a family would have to choose between receiving benefits and saving for an emergency. WIC bases their eligibility criteria on gross income rather than net. So in our case, even though over half of Audrie's paycheck is withheld for taxes and shit, we don't qualify because all that money we never see (and most certainly can't spend on diapers and formula) is still considered income. Disability is an option for w2 workers - and even though I worked a corporate job for ten years prior to becoming a freelancer, I am unable to receive those benefits from the time I worked. After waiting 1.5 hours on the phone to speak to a representative, I was told, "if you don't use it, you lose it." There is also a poorly publicized disability program self-employed folks can pay into, but there are profit minimums, not to mention a two-year contribution requirement. So by the time a pregnant person actually thinks to look into it, they are already shit out of luck for not knowing about it sooner.
Okay, but who's gonna fork over the money to make sure these pregnant people and the precious lives they create are cared for via new and improved programs? Hmm, I dunno. How about we shave off a splinter of that $768 Billion Defense bill or, hmmm, maybe tax the filthy rich their fair share and/or hold the corporate elite accountable for creating the piss-poor working and housing and living conditions which make it nearly impossible for people survive their own lives, let alone want to pro-create? Just a thought.
And of course, there are those who think that if a person is "grown" enough to get pregnant, they should have to face the consequence of carrying out their pregnancy to term. What kind of entitled snob do you have to be to act as judge and jury for the choices and the body of a stranger that you would pin a lifelong physical, mental, emotional, and financial punishment upon a pregnant person's life—a life you know absolutely nothing about--all for a two-second, two-party slip-up? All the while, likely reserving not even a morsel of accountability whatsoever for the impregnator, whose sperm is the one and only reason the effin' fetus came to be. All the while, likely going hard for abstinence being taught in schools rather than proper sex/contraception education, which has been proven to prevent unwanted pregnancies. Again, get the fuck out of here.
All that said, you would think pro-lifers would grasp this concept and go super hard for public services that would make having and raising children easier on families. Instead of trying to pass inhumane laws that spit on the concept of consent and body autonomy, instead of standing outside of abortion clinics with hateful signs (what would Jesus NOT do?), you'd think these good, kind God-fearing folks would lobby for life-affirming things like federally mandated leave, universal healthcare, quality education, income equity, common sense gun control, and affordable access to housing, childcare, and food. You know, shit that might actually make a person wanna fuck around and have a kid.
Do programs exist to help families out? Yes, but they are incredibly flawed, hard to navigate, and practically designed to keep poor families poor. CalFresh has a savings cap of $2K, which means a family would have to choose between receiving benefits and saving for an emergency. WIC bases their eligibility criteria on gross income rather than net. So in our case, even though over half of Audrie's paycheck is withheld for taxes and shit, we don't qualify because all that money we never see (and most certainly can't spend on diapers and formula) is still considered income. Disability is an option for w2 workers - and even though I worked a corporate job for ten years prior to becoming a freelancer, I am unable to receive those benefits from the time I worked. After waiting 1.5 hours on the phone to speak to a representative, I was told, "if you don't use it, you lose it." There is also a poorly publicized disability program self-employed folks can pay into, but there are profit minimums, not to mention a two-year contribution requirement. So by the time a pregnant person actually thinks to look into it, they are already shit out of luck for not knowing about it sooner.
Okay, but who's gonna fork over the money to make sure these pregnant people and the precious lives they create are cared for via new and improved programs? Hmm, I dunno. How about we shave off a splinter of that $768 Billion Defense bill or, hmmm, maybe tax the filthy rich their fair share and/or hold the corporate elite accountable for creating the piss-poor working and housing and living conditions which make it nearly impossible for people survive their own lives, let alone want to pro-create? Just a thought.
And of course, there are those who think that if a person is "grown" enough to get pregnant, they should have to face the consequence of carrying out their pregnancy to term. What kind of entitled snob do you have to be to act as judge and jury for the choices and the body of a stranger that you would pin a lifelong physical, mental, emotional, and financial punishment upon a pregnant person's life—a life you know absolutely nothing about--all for a two-second, two-party slip-up? All the while, likely reserving not even a morsel of accountability whatsoever for the impregnator, whose sperm is the one and only reason the effin' fetus came to be. All the while, likely going hard for abstinence being taught in schools rather than proper sex/contraception education, which has been proven to prevent unwanted pregnancies. Again, get the fuck out of here.
Why should anyone care about my story if it's something I signed up for? Truthfully, I don't expect to garner sympathy from anyone. I know that birthing people endure far harder pregnancy and delivery experiences. I'm not trying to make a competition out of it or throw myself a pity party. I just felt like telling it how it really is, and I didn't want to wait for someone to ask me because I might be waiting awhile. That said, I am not a victim here. I am absolutely killing this shit like a fucking badass. I feel more powerful and magical in my totally destroyed-but-healing body than I ever have. And I'm so thankful I had the opportunity to experience it. Because I CHOSE River. Maybe I'll even do it again someday, like if I win the lottery or something, or if all those pro-Lifers ban together and join the rest of us in trying to create a world where the quality and sanctity and beauty of life are actually prioritized.
Do I wish there was more of a realistic approach to the way we hold space for birthing people and their unique stories? Yes, yes I do. Do I wish we had better postpartum care and resources to actually recover with dignity while feeling confident and seen and heard and uplifted as new parents? Yes, yes I do. In my opinion, it's unacceptable that while a pediatrician must see a newborn baby within 48 hours, an OBGYN doesn't care to see a postpartum patient until SIX WEEKS have passed. It's unacceptable that most birthing people have to find out about all this shit as they go through it rather than from the wisdom of prior birthing warriors because our society hasn't allowed those folks the space or platform to collectively pool these experiences into a better canon of resources, education, and support. All I'm saying is if we can learn to put a condom on a banana in health class when we're teenagers, we can learn about perineal tearing and nipple shields, too.
The other thing I'm saying is this: if you have made it to the end of this story and still think a fully formed pregnant human should have to go through any shred of the aforementioned suffering I just described just so their unborn/unwanted fetus can enter this world, but you're not willing to die on a hill of abundant and abounding social services, I don't know what kind of God you're praying too, but damn, you might be as cruel as they come. I would ask you to think twice about what kind of person you want to be before signing off on the legal authorization of ongoing assault and potentially life-threatening trauma to a stranger's body without their consent. Even if you can't find it in your heart to separate church and state (because, you know, other people live on this planet who do not subscribe to your exact beliefs and therefore should be able to make their own GD decisions about what they do or not do with their bodies), I hope you can at least separate what it is to suffer against your will versus make sacrifices for a cause that you and you alone chose.
I'm so glad I chose River, which means I don't regret one second of this experience. But I stand in absolute solidarity with folks who choose abortion for any reason (GTFO of here with the whole rape/incest justification...we need to move beyond that tired convo and into FULL body autonomy without requiring extreme, traumatic conditions). I wish we could all agree to give all pregnant people the same courtesy, consideration, and respect no matter which path they choose.
***I invite anyone who feels like they have a story they never got to share around (in)fertility, abortion, adoption, pregnancy, labor/delivery, miscarriages, parenting, family planning, and/or family preventing to do so in the comment section. I will happily hold space for you and hope others will too.
***Feel like helping birthing people in a real, tangible way? Please donate today to our doula's business, Give Light Doula & Advocacy Services and help Nyisha grow her business and be able to provide discounted/free services to folks in our community made most vulnerable by systemic injustices.
The other thing I'm saying is this: if you have made it to the end of this story and still think a fully formed pregnant human should have to go through any shred of the aforementioned suffering I just described just so their unborn/unwanted fetus can enter this world, but you're not willing to die on a hill of abundant and abounding social services, I don't know what kind of God you're praying too, but damn, you might be as cruel as they come. I would ask you to think twice about what kind of person you want to be before signing off on the legal authorization of ongoing assault and potentially life-threatening trauma to a stranger's body without their consent. Even if you can't find it in your heart to separate church and state (because, you know, other people live on this planet who do not subscribe to your exact beliefs and therefore should be able to make their own GD decisions about what they do or not do with their bodies), I hope you can at least separate what it is to suffer against your will versus make sacrifices for a cause that you and you alone chose.
I'm so glad I chose River, which means I don't regret one second of this experience. But I stand in absolute solidarity with folks who choose abortion for any reason (GTFO of here with the whole rape/incest justification...we need to move beyond that tired convo and into FULL body autonomy without requiring extreme, traumatic conditions). I wish we could all agree to give all pregnant people the same courtesy, consideration, and respect no matter which path they choose.
***I invite anyone who feels like they have a story they never got to share around (in)fertility, abortion, adoption, pregnancy, labor/delivery, miscarriages, parenting, family planning, and/or family preventing to do so in the comment section. I will happily hold space for you and hope others will too.
***Feel like helping birthing people in a real, tangible way? Please donate today to our doula's business, Give Light Doula & Advocacy Services and help Nyisha grow her business and be able to provide discounted/free services to folks in our community made most vulnerable by systemic injustices.
Image Descriptions:
Splash/Header Image: Lindsay is wearing a hospital gown and laying in a hospital bed, staring at a naked slimy, screaming, newborn River Jean.
Image 1: Lindsay is wearing a hospital gown and laying in hospital bed, just after delivering River, who is wrapped in blankets on Lindsay's chest. Audrie is standing to the left side of the bed with her hands on Lindsay, and a hospital staff member is standing to the right side of the bed.
Image 2: Close-up picture of River nursing on Lindsay's breast. Her hand is positioned in a way that it looks like she's flipping off the camera.
Image 3: Black and white photo of Lindsay laying in bed, wearing a black t-shirt, with her baby bump exposed.
Image 4: Lindsay, standing in her kitchen, wearing shorts and a sweater, holding River up to nurse on her right breast, with a manual pump attached to her left breast.
Image 5: Lindsay and Audrie laying in bed, River laying next to them in a bassinet.
Image 6 & 7: Two different photos of Audrie wrapped up in a beige throw blanket, sitting, exhausted and eyes closed, on the couch during a night feeding.
Image 8: Photo of Lindsay's exhausted reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Image 9: A rainbow-colored 28-compartment pill box filled with multiple pills and supplements.
Image 10: A wastebasket full of bloody pads and sanitary products.
Image 11: Drops of blood on the toilet bowl.
Image 12: A table full of sanitary pads and postpartum supplies.
Image 13: A close-up photo of Lindsay's gray underwear and some of the supplies needed to create a "pad-sicle."
Image 14: A pile of sweaty clothes laying in a heap on a blue shaggy carpet.
Image 15: Lindsay wearing a white/tie-dye sweater, sitting on toilet, wincing in pain, using a peri-bottle.
Image 16: Lindsay wearing a gray sweater, sitting on toilet, wincing in pain, leaning forward in attempt to use the restroom.
Image 17: Lindsay wearing a gray sweater, standing in shower, bent over to stabilize hands on the shower wall while peeing.
Image 18: Lindsay wearing a gray t-shirt, squatting above toilet, hands on knees.
Image 19: Lindsay, sitting naked in bathtub, leaning over to her left side and stabilizing herself on the side rim of the tub.
Image 20: Lindsay sitting in a chair, nursing River, her feet extended onto the couch, where Audrie is sitting and rubbing them.
Image 21: Lindsay sitting on couch, leaning back, wearing a nursing bra, hooked up to double breast pump.
Image 22: A bag full of supplemental nursing supplies from the hospital.
Image 23: Selfie of Lindsay, wearing nursing bra, sitting in chair and holding sleeping River.
Splash/Header Image: Lindsay is wearing a hospital gown and laying in a hospital bed, staring at a naked slimy, screaming, newborn River Jean.
Image 1: Lindsay is wearing a hospital gown and laying in hospital bed, just after delivering River, who is wrapped in blankets on Lindsay's chest. Audrie is standing to the left side of the bed with her hands on Lindsay, and a hospital staff member is standing to the right side of the bed.
Image 2: Close-up picture of River nursing on Lindsay's breast. Her hand is positioned in a way that it looks like she's flipping off the camera.
Image 3: Black and white photo of Lindsay laying in bed, wearing a black t-shirt, with her baby bump exposed.
Image 4: Lindsay, standing in her kitchen, wearing shorts and a sweater, holding River up to nurse on her right breast, with a manual pump attached to her left breast.
Image 5: Lindsay and Audrie laying in bed, River laying next to them in a bassinet.
Image 6 & 7: Two different photos of Audrie wrapped up in a beige throw blanket, sitting, exhausted and eyes closed, on the couch during a night feeding.
Image 8: Photo of Lindsay's exhausted reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Image 9: A rainbow-colored 28-compartment pill box filled with multiple pills and supplements.
Image 10: A wastebasket full of bloody pads and sanitary products.
Image 11: Drops of blood on the toilet bowl.
Image 12: A table full of sanitary pads and postpartum supplies.
Image 13: A close-up photo of Lindsay's gray underwear and some of the supplies needed to create a "pad-sicle."
Image 14: A pile of sweaty clothes laying in a heap on a blue shaggy carpet.
Image 15: Lindsay wearing a white/tie-dye sweater, sitting on toilet, wincing in pain, using a peri-bottle.
Image 16: Lindsay wearing a gray sweater, sitting on toilet, wincing in pain, leaning forward in attempt to use the restroom.
Image 17: Lindsay wearing a gray sweater, standing in shower, bent over to stabilize hands on the shower wall while peeing.
Image 18: Lindsay wearing a gray t-shirt, squatting above toilet, hands on knees.
Image 19: Lindsay, sitting naked in bathtub, leaning over to her left side and stabilizing herself on the side rim of the tub.
Image 20: Lindsay sitting in a chair, nursing River, her feet extended onto the couch, where Audrie is sitting and rubbing them.
Image 21: Lindsay sitting on couch, leaning back, wearing a nursing bra, hooked up to double breast pump.
Image 22: A bag full of supplemental nursing supplies from the hospital.
Image 23: Selfie of Lindsay, wearing nursing bra, sitting in chair and holding sleeping River.
