Improv and Pregnancy

2013 was the year I did two things I’d always wanted to do but had always found too daunting: I started taking improv classes and I got knocked up. For me, the two experiences have been inextricably linked—I first knew I was pregnant when I tasted the bitter regurgitation of a morsel of laksa during a level 3 improv class, and while it’s fair to say I had been experiencing nausea since my first level 1 class—who wouldn’t feel sick at the prospect of being given a one-word suggestion and then told they now had to make up an entire scene from it on the spot—this was different.

Anyway, although I’m a total novice at both improv and having babies (I’m only about six months into my improv education and still three months away from actually giving birth), I don’t see why that should stop me from self-importantly sharing my observations in all the ways learning improv is just like preparing to have a baby. 

1) FEAR: When I first started improv I couldn’t comprehend how I was supposed to get up on stage in front of a paying audience and make up words and a story out of my head without having planned it beforehand. I had performed in plays before, but I’d never got up without having any idea of what I was going to say. I felt nervous and nauseous during every training, and this wasn’t morning sickness. It was the cold, dark terror of the unknown. 

As I have now discovered, the prospect of giving birth conjures up the same feelings of dread, but luckily there’s a secret weapon for both: training. Improv training has taught me to be prepared for lots of different scenarios that might come up on stage, and to learn to trust my body and mind that it will know what to do when the time comes. In the same way I can do training—yoga, Pilates, meditation, even bellydancing—to prepare me for giving birth. FUN FACT! Did you know that some women’s labours go for more than 40 hours?! That’s like doing 80 Harolds in a row!

2) STRUCTURE: At the start of the half-hour Harold format your team is given a one-word suggestion from the audience and everything else is improvised from there—but the great thing is knowing you have a neat, three-act structure to work with. So while you may not know how it’s all going to play out, you do have a vague map and some ‘rules’ to follow. 

In the same way, educating myself about the general ‘narrative arc’ of birth—i.e. first, second and third stage labour—reassures me that there is a logical course that must be followed in order for the baby to eventually come out. While every birth, like every Harold, is individual and different, it’s helpful to understand there’s some sort of framework to it.

3) ACCEPTANCE: Having said this, I’ve performed in Harolds where things don’t end up following the proper structure—sometimes we go too long so we have to finish on the second act, or we completely forget to tie up a loose end from act 1, or someone wipes a scene too early before it really gets going—but what this has taught me is that you just have to go with whatever happens on the night. Some labours don’t progress and require an emergency caesarean, some babies are breech, and sometimes for whatever reason intervention is required. It’s great to know what is supposed to happen in each, but if things don’t go the way you planned? Well, I’ve been on stage where this has happened and it’s taught me that nothing too terrible happens. There are always people more experienced than you around who will jump in to help save a scene. Yes, I usually feel horrible about it afterwards because I want everything to be perfect, but then a teammate points out I did something good in an earlier scene and it all evens out. 

In this way, improv has taught me that rather than getting too obsessed about the sort of birth I want, as long as I do my best and then accept whatever happens on the night I can turn whatever might happen into a positive experience for me (and my baby). 

4) SUPPORT: Like most beginners, when I first started I thought improv was all about me: that I had to come out with blisteringly brilliant and witty lines every time. That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself, sort of like expecting to give birth to triplets all by yourself in a gutter—which, sure, some women have done, but it seems pretty stressful. What I’ve eventually learned is that in a Harold, the team’s job is to support and trust each other. You’re not on your own, and that’s the whole point. 

Similarly, in the delivery room, you want people you can trust. You don’t want your easily-upset mum in there if she can’t handle seeing you being ‘uncomfortable’ and potentially bleating like a farmyard animal, and you don’t want to be confronted with a megabitch midwife you’ve never met telling you you’d better hurry up because her lunch break is coming up. You want people who will listen to you, and you need to respect them enough to listen to them as well.

As an Independent Young Woman™ I’m used to being pretty self-reliant, and at first I found the level of trust needed during an improv scene difficult to accept, but now I’m more comfortable putting my faith in other people to help me get through scary situations. Amy Poehler and Tina Fey trusting each other enough to make a scene like Monkey Boners work: now that is the level of trust I want during labour between me and my birth partners. Sure, it’s my vagina the kid has to be pushed out of, but I’ll be relying on my team to support me and help me get there. We are all one big vagina! Improv has taught me that.

5) RELAX: When you’re preparing for a natural birth you learn about how fear leads to tension, which leads to pain. This basically means that if you’re scared it’s going to hurt more, so you’re better off relaxing as much as possible. 

The bright lights of the Dan O’Connell pub and the delivery room at The Royal Women’s can both be really overwhelming, and knowing there’s an audience watching can make it even more intimidating. But while it’s still really difficult for me not to get nervous before a show, I know from past experience that if I let nerves take over I get paralysed: the words won’t come out. Put more simply—when I’m scared, it hurts. For this reason, I like to remember to go into each show with a spirit of adventure, even though I’ll never know quite how it will turn out. And I hope I can approach giving birth in the same way.