Labor, delivery private time – not public exhibit

While I’m away, I’m letting you give the advice. The following are readers’ opinions on issues they’ve seen in the column:

On unwanted guests in the delivery room:

As a woman who recently underwent an elective C-section with a much-desired epidural, I can say that every woman deserves her privacy. The only thing I can imagine that would be worse than having my mother-in-law at my head while they pulled a baby out of me would be to see Satan to my immediate left. Truly. It doesn’t matter what kind of labor you have, natural, unnatural, supernatural – if you don’t want a bunch of people there, you don’t want a bunch of people there, so (bleep) off.

I personally would prefer to have a baby like my dog had puppies – alone and under the bed. Since when did these people start acting like childbirth is “The Handmaid’s Tale,” with preference given to women of higher importance on who gets to hold the lady’s calf back? I mean really, it’s not like licking the spoon when you make brownies; you don’t get to call shotgun on your favorite stirrup. I’ll send Polaroids of my vagina later, if she feels so left out. Good Lord. No means no, people. Stop putting moms-to-be in the awkward position of having to shut you down over and over. During childbirth, I’m sick and tired and bloody and calling your son a hateful (bleep) over and over again. Sorry if I don’t want an audience for something so deeply personal, particularly an audience whom I know never liked my choice in china pattern.

Sorry for the rant, but really. The last generation of women was not subjected to this brand of labor-room gawking. I am not a car crash by the side of the road. Leave me alone and let me get my work done. You can see the baby when he’s clean.

– L.A., Calif.

On adult children in strained relationships with their parents:

Going “home” resulted in both my mother’s and my falling into behavior patterns engraved in our brains during my teen years. No matter how adult and evolved I might think I’d become, a visit to my childhood home would make me 17 again. Having her visit me also made me uncomfortable because I always felt judged on my housekeeping, decorating, cooking, neighborhood, etc.

I came up with another alternative. Even when money was tight, I arranged to meet mom in a third, neutral location. We took vacations together – each flying in and meeting there. I insisted that we share evenly, but we didn’t nickel-and-dime it. We alternated paying for the room, transportation, meals. I insisted (truthfully) that this is the same method I used when traveling with a girlfriend. Also, like with a girlfriend, we each had a little “alone time” so we didn’t kill each other.

Of course, when I was tired and she corrected me, I still rolled my eyes and said “motherrrrrrr” like a teenager, but it held so much less significance for each of us. We could go on from there, wrestling with the REAL luggage rather than years of emotional baggage. – M.K.

Thank you on behalf of parents, adult children and the travel and hospitality industries.