Recently, I have had the pleasure of reliving the birth of my two children,by talking to two expectant first time mums: a friend, and an extended family member. Childbirth is a beautiful miracle. By beautiful,I mean the baby is beautiful. Pushing a baby out of a gobsmackingly stretchable opening of your body however, is far from beautiful, to be perfectly honest. Scientifically amazing, yes, beautiful no. The details of our conversations have inspired me to compile my soundtrack of childbirth. Please feel free to share your soundtrack.
Side A: Baby One
Evil cow. Crying. Jelly. Excruciating. Flatulence. Violent. Vomit. Agony. High on drugs. Blood. Metal. Shiver. Numb. Feel like slapping you. Emotional. Needle. Very very large needle. Hustle drugs.
Lies. Huge. Dignity. Numb. Vulnerable. Control. How many corners does your head have? Cut. Sew me back together. Baby names that rhyme with my last name. Crying. And more crying. Angry. My beautiful baby.
Side B:Baby Two.
Evil cow. Murder. Losing command of the English language. Blood. Water. Why do they call it water.? Agony. Excrucitating. A huge poo.
Crotch.On.Fire. Never ever touch me again. Call him. Call him. Is he coming?. Liar. Screaming. More Screaming. More lies.
*Scream scream, scream, scream, scream*. No!I Don’t want to touch the head. Get it out. Hug.Kiss.Bundle of joy. My beautiful baby.
BABY ONE: My first son was obviously too huge for me to push naturally, but my caregivers clearly lied to me, told me that I could do it, bigging me up, egging me on, so foolishly, as a first time mother, I complied, and decided not waste my assertiveness before the baby was born. (I may need to preserve my assertiveness to hustle much needed drugs in the delivery room.) Crunch time, contractions are excruciatingly painful, I am in agony, labour not progressing for a very long time, baby in distress, not engaging, head too huge, (quelle surprize!) baby won’t come out,epidural going in, two very very large needles going into my back .
Not long, I’m numb from the waist down, high on drugs, asking my husband just how many corners he has on his head, and also if we could find a baby name that can rhyme with our last name.(Thank goodness the drugs wore off and I decided against that).Things quickly turn sour, rushed into theatre where there is a huge piece of metal being used to take my baby out, described as (horribly violent) by my hubby, who sadly for him, had to witness this, and felt like slapping the person holding the implement.
This is not before my baby pushing equipment is cut to make way for the babys’ head, as I lay spreadeagled on the table with millions of people hovering over my crotch area.Nice.
So much for dignity, whilst I vomit ,cry and shiver uncontrollably because of a weird effect the epidural had on me. I feel vulnerable, my legs feel like jelly, I have no control whatsoever over what’s happening to my body, and as a (bit of a) control freak, I absolutley hate it!
Push? Please, for the love of God leave me alone! Between all the shivering, puking and lying on the butchers table being cut up, how on earth can I push you evil cow? Besides, don’t you have your violent pieces of weaponry to do the job for you, you complete set of bastards??
(*Really, deep down inside, I am grateful for all the assistance, I am receiving from this amazing team of doctors,nurses and midwives, truly I am, but in the throes of labour, many ungrateful thoughts and words of ill intent tend to circulate in ones head, and to be quite honest, I have been pressured into having this baby naturally, when clearly I couldn’t so YEAH, I’m a little mad at this point*.(GRRRRR)
Dear Ms Midwife, barking orders at me to push,(whilst I simultaneously, uncontrollably of course, vomit all over her-Score!)-I have no sensation and can’t feel anything .If someone cut off your bottom, would you still be able to sit down. Hmm??
My beautiful baby came out,eventually, after approx 31 hours of labour. Unfortunately for him and me, he was not doing too well and they took him away before I even saw or heard him cry.(I lay on the table being sewn back together,for what felt like hours, whilst all I thought about was my baby.)
Docs, etcetera, were trying to talk to me.Don’t even think about making conversation with me right now, why you little….. After doing some needlework stitches on my you know what,I’m back in my room, no baby, people are calling me, congratulating me.
Don’t even know if my baby was going to be ok. I was really quite emotional, and angry afterwards because all of this could have been avoided if I just had a caesarean section from the beginning, as it was clearly warranted.My baby boy wouldn’t have had to suffer traumatic birth, and I, a traumatic delivery.The first time I laid eyes on him was via a camcorder, *sigh* because he ended up in a glass container in the SCBU *cry cry cry*).
My beautiful baby got better, I recovered, and he is still my beautiful baby.I would do it all over again, if it meant the final result would be him.That’s where the true beauty of childbirth lies, when you realise you’ve created a life that gives new meaning to the word love, and that you’d do anything for them. *Bring the violins out*.
My Beautiful baby, on day one!No wonder his head wouldn't fit,
Tune in next time for the Side B soundtrack.
P.S. I have chosen not to include the description of the flatulence incidence due to the mortifyingly embarrassing nature of it.Please, by all means, let the power of imagination take over you.