somehow we are all the same

I am friends with a fellow mother/writer/performer named Christen Clifford, whose work always makes me laugh and makes me think. While she lives a slightly more outrageous life than I do, and isn’t afraid to talk about it in her work, I always find there is much more common ground between our experiences than I would have expected.

That’s just how I felt when I read her latest work, My Home Birth: A Graphic Graphic Memoir, which was hilariously brought to life as a comic book (or, I guess one should say, a graphic memoir) by artist David Heatley. Here’s what they created, in Christen’s own words:

Something like a totally raw comic strip about home birth, complete with shit and placenta, hatred and love, Facebook, The Daily Show, and hot naked photos of the majorly pregnant author. We thought you’d like that.

Now, I never had a home birth. I never for a moment considered anything other than the three medically-intervented, fetal-heartbeat-monitored, bed-lying hospital births that I had. But I laughed out loud at Christen’s story, because it somehow sounded so familiar.

My favorite part is when she’s up cleaning the kitchen an hour after the baby is born.