Giving birth is one of the most life-changing experiences a person can go through. Whether as a spectator, or an active participant, it is something to behold, and not easily forgotten. Every birth is different and every mother-to-be has their own notions of what it will be like. Of course, you will likely have heard horror stories, or stories that make it sound like some sort of transcendental bliss. My 3 birth experiences sit somewhere in the middle. I did not have the experience of having a caesarean, so I can’t claim to know anything about this type of birth. Nonetheless, if you’re currently pregnant or are wondering what it’s like, it can be hard to fathom the whole labour experience. I’ll try to sum it up for you, in the format of a TripAdvisor review.
There’s this funny thing that happens during childbirth, where you think you still have control for a little while, until the pain becomes so intense that you come face-to-face with the fact that you are on this ride (labour) until the very end and there is nothing you can do about it! At this point any sense of dignity, politeness and sanity is out the window. Before you know it, you’re starkers in the shower, under the hot water, sucking on a pipe of laughing gas (nitrous oxide) in front of your mother-in-law, moaning like an injured cow, while you try not to shit yourself!
I’d have to say though, I didn’t get much sleeping done, ‘cos you know, contractions! A lot of people liken the motions of contractions to waves and I’d have to agree with this analogy. The pain of labour comes in waves, starting off gradually, and then intensifying. With my first pregnancy, I felt it all as intense lower back pain. Second pregnancy, it was all in the front, with the sensation of tightness across my abdomen. The feeling was like when you have a stomach bug with diarrhea and you just want to curl up into foetal position with the pain. Except that it radiates, or comes on, in intervals, and then dissipates again for hours! I’m trying to remember the last pregnancy, but honestly, it’s a blur.
It’s not always like that though. After pushing out my second child, I sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed. I was so relieved. The pressure in my pelvis through the entire pregnancy and labour was immense. Once I could let go, and it was over, I was so overcome with emotion. Every emotion of my pregnancy, the grief of losing mum 8 months earlier, the challenges of parenting, the fears about not being ‘good enough’ to parent 2 young boys. It was a lot, and it all came flooding out. It would have been at least 5 minutes before I finally came back to my senses. Then I turned around from squatting position on the bed, arms braced on the bead head, and saw my new baby boy. How precious he was! I finally got to meet him, and he was gorgeous. I remembered all of the love I felt when meeting my first baby boy, and I KNEW that we could do this journey. All I had to do was be there with them, as much as I could be. That’s all. That was enough.
It was over 9 years ago that my waters broke for the very first time. We had planned to go out for dinner with friends, when a bucketload of liquid (amniotic fluid) spontaneously erupted out of my vagina and all over the tiled floor of the apartment we were staying. Nope, turns out we’d have to cancel dinner after all. A glimpse of what was to come with becoming parents. Off to the hospital we trapsed, bright-eyed but anxious, a printed copy of my ‘Birth Plan’ in hand. My Mum-In-Law would meet us there too, with her camera to capture the experience. We were entering the hospital as man and wife, and would be leaving as a family of three. Once in the birthing suite, I was laid up on the bed and strapped into some measuring devices to check contractions, my blood pressure and the heart rate of baby. By the time the final pushing was done, some 12 hours after admission, I had cried, bled, pooped, nearly heaved and pushed out a baby. Finally, I could breathe a sigh of relief…
“You now need to deliver the afterbirth” the midwives told me.
“Sorry, what now!?”, I winced. I needed to push out the giant, life-sustaining organ – the placenta – that had fed our baby throughout pregnancy, and this thing was at least the size of 800g porterhouse steak! “Oh, and we’ll need to stitch you up where you’ve been cut”, the Obstetrician (Dr.) announced, while seated smack bang, face to face with my vagina. No need for any anesthetic. The whole area was traumatised anyway, so what’s a few extra needle pricks and some stitches!?
While the vagina-sewing was going on, the midwife flopped my new baby onto my naked chest, and started squeezing, with two hands, my boob to release some golden liquid from my nipple.
“Umm, are you right there?” I queried. To which she responded, “It’s time for you to feed your baby”, as she casually latched my baby’s mouth to my nipple and it proceeded to suck. Hey presto, that was my introduction and graduation into breastfeeding!
Can you imagine any other service where you get the added bonus of getting your perineum (‘gouch’ or ‘taint’) cut with some sharp scissors to save it from tearing? This is just a snippet of what you could be in for when you go into labour. Just to put things into perspective, my first son’s head was on the 98th percentile for size. It was a 38cm diameter. Imagine any orifice (hole) in your body expanding to fit something longer than a standard school ruler out of your body? Just take a moment to sit with that… Well done, Son. I wish I could be happier for you for being on the 98th percentile for something, but you ruined my vagina!
Toilets – you don’t need them. Just shit on the bed! That’s what I did, third time around! Ok, a little context. It was while squatted, pushing out my baby. Honestly, it happens! The best thing was that I was 98% unconscious of it. I had this vague recollection that it might have happened. The following day, I had to check in with Hubby like, “Did that actually happen?”. To which he responded, “Yes. Yes it did”. Fucking fantastic. There’s a whole other level to our relationship! I guess the midwives, and Obs are so used to it too, as it wasn’t even acknowledged at the time. The same muscles used for pooing are the same muscles required for delivering a baby, so just be prepared for it. Remember what I said about dignity earlier… yeah, forget about it!
One of the best pieces of advice I received about giving birth came from my Obstetrician. Being a first time mum-to-be, I was absolutely terrified, reading way too many pregnancy articles focused on a million hypothetical scenarios of what could go wrong for me or my baby! I came into his office armed with a barrage of questions, and this huge, kind-hearted and confident man said to me;
“Women have been giving birth for thousands of years. Your body knows what to do. If anything should go wrong, we will be right there with you to keep you and your baby safe and well”.
With those words, I felt immediate relief. I am very blessed to have had healthy pregnancies, healthy babies, and access to excellent health care. I acknowledge that this is not the case for everyone, and that this experience can be so much more difficult and harrowing when things do go wrong.
For those who are blessed to have already given birth, I honour you for the raw, agonising beauty that you endured. For those of you whom have witnesses a woman in their life giving birth, I’m sorry you had to see all that! It’s a lot! Also, what an amazing privilege to have been a part of that even and be able to provide support. Much like life, giving birth will go a lot smoother for you once you accept that you will have to just ‘go along with it’ and surrender. You can’t control much. But you CAN control your thoughts, your words, your actions… and your breathing. Just breathe, your body knows what it is doing.
Much love to all the mums out there, and to all of the beautiful people reading this post. Tell me about your birth experiences, we’d love to hear from you.
Cheers,
MumOf3WRs
