For me at least, there was absolutely nothing natural, miraculous or even remotely pleasant about the whole process (or aftermath) of childbirth. I have frequently questioned the sanity of all the women who have given birth MULTIPLE times. (What on earth is wrong with you?) I was certainly not about to go through all of that (EVER AGAIN), and besides, the entire ordeal would probably be haunting my dreams for all of eternity anyhow. This over abundance of negative feelings towards childbirth did force me to question myself – was there just something deep and disturbingly wrong with me?
I knew exactly how that baby got there in the first place, (Ortho 777’s complete and utter lack of efficacy comes DIRECTLY to mind) however, I seemingly lacked any specific clarity as to how the baby was supposed to emerge. I am of course referring to the birthing process itself – since I was painfully aware of the huge contribution a very specific orifice would have to make. (It is duly noted that this particular situation could have easily been remedied, had I not been such a chicken shit and attended more than just ONE Lamaze class) In a perfect world and without ANY effort on my behalf, this baby would just magically appear, all fresh and fragrant, and as it’s being gently pressed into my waiting arms, I have only just awoken from a lengthy (approximately 9 month) slumber. I refuse to believe that I am in any way delusional. In fact, I predict that some sassy woman will be blogging about this exact scenario in about 25 years, in a much nicer time – where things like giving birth will have become more civilized.
The reality of course was exactly as one might expect – AWFUL. In fact, the entire experience still has this hazy surreal horror film quality to it and unfortunately, I am still incapable of just shutting my eyes and making it disappear. (See above – concerning obvious PTSD by way of haunting dreams) At approximately 4:30 AM on July 22nd, I was advised that I was completely dilated and in full labor. Suddenly after all that waiting/pacing/bare ass displaying drama, things really started to escalate – too quickly it would seem.
My first (of many) problems was the mirror. They probably have little bedside monitors for your viewing pleasure nowadays, but back in the dark days of 1986, there was only this huge round RV style mirror suspended from the ceiling pointing directly at your angry birth canal. As previously mentioned, I tend towards squeamish and therefore, this mirror was REALLY upsetting me. (It is important to note that at no time did it occur to me to merely look away or perhaps just close my eyes) Gosh no – I simply proceeded to HOLLER until inevitably, the tiniest of the two nurses (she seemed pixie sized in my mind) began to perform a series of impressive gymnastic leaps in an effort to throw a towel over the RV mirror, just to shut me up.
For over 2 hours this pixie nurse and I repeatedly had the following conversation:
Me: “I need to push NOW”
Pixie Nurse: “Oh NO my dear you mustn’t push yet. Allow me to sprinkle some of my magic pixie dust in your face to distract and amuse you!” (She then proceeds to shove a gas mask over my mouth and nose, ignoring my flailing arms and muffled cries)
Me: (Swatting it aside – I was in no mood to be trifled with) “I HATE YOU!!!”
Pixie Nurse: “Probably not nearly as much as I dislike you at the moment – dear” (Such a nasty and condescending pixie)
Quite suddenly, seemingly out of NOWHERE the doctor decides to change the rules in this birthing game, just to mess with my head a little:
Pixie Nurse: “Ok dearest – you can start pushing!”
Me: “I CAN’T NOW. YOU TOLD ME I COULDN’T FOR TOO LONG!” (I firmly believe that my entire birth canal was now strenuously objecting these confusing and conflicting instructions, thereby forcing the appropriate muscles into temporary paralysis)
Finally, possibly just to get this whole thing over with – my body began to cooperate and I was able to push and I pushed and I pushed and I pushed, until it felt as though my nether region was about to explode. (For those seeking clarity, it literally feels as though your nether region is exploding! It is somewhat interesting to note that Wikipedia also defines nether region as: Hell, the Underworld, or any place of darkness or eternal suffering. By all means, please take a few moments to ponder this small nugget of irony!) Regardless, this is a smallish space, no? Imagine if you will then, that an object (how about a baby’s head?) which is approximately the size of a 10 pin bowling ball (if you’re lucky) is now functioning as an angry/aggressive battering ram, hell-bent on forcing its way out. You are of course powerless to stop this from happening.
Quite suddenly, before I was even able to catch my breath – there was indeed a baby…I immediately began to cry hysterically (Just from the sheer RELIEF that it was finally over) when that little minx of a pixie nurse foolishly decided to place this baby immediately on ME. You may recall that I am not good with things that are gross and as awful as this may sound – the following conversation occurred:
Doctor: “You have a baby girl” (or some such thing)
Pixie Nurse Who Now Hates Me: “Here you go dear – try not to terrorize it”
And then, just like that, without any further discussion or warning – she plops that baby on my stomach with the CORD still attached, while still covered in a thick layer of some sort of ICK.
Me: “Ohhhh – Ewwwwww” (at this point I am frantically searching all over the baby, trying to find a specific area that I can actually touch. (Touching seemed to be expected of me at this point) I settled on just sort of patting the wet tips of her hair)
Pixie Nurse: “What DID you just say?”
Me: “I said GOO…” (This was indeed a surprising bit of quick thinking on my part as “GOO” could also be interpreted as a plausible attempt to communicate with the baby. She was buying NONE of it.
Pixie Nurse: Briskly snips the umbilical cord then whisks the baby away before I have a chance to do something really stupid like – I don’t know, HOSE her off. “Let’s just get her cleaned up for you dear” (Pixie nurse positively REEKS of disapproval at this point, while I pretend to remain blissfully clueless. This is actually as easy as it looks)
Once they have finished tidying me up, I am moved into a ward which I will be sharing with 3 other women. About 20 minutes later (and I’m sure with a great deal of trepidation) pixie nurse places a clean and tightly swaddled baby into my arms. In a perfect world, were I writing a fictional account of events – I could probably just lie and say that I felt this instant, intense connection with the baby I was looking at. The truth is, I was more scared of it than anything. I kept looking around wondering if this was really all I was supposed to be receiving after hours of such hard work. I placed her on the bed because I felt so awkward holding her, and then I gently took off her little toque and was instantly shocked by the MASS of black hair that she had. It stood on end and gave her a sort of endearing and eccentric look – like a tiny mad scientist. Next I counted all of her fingers and toes (they were all present with no extras). Lastly, I peered into her wrinkled little face and thought (I’m being brutally honest right now) “Why does my daughter look like a tiny withered 90-year-old man?”
I took a chance and called my parents despite the early hour and was surprised (and deeply moved) to hear that they had been up all night waiting to hear from me. They had even been contacting some relatives to let them know that I was in labor. Even writing this now makes me want to cry – it was so incredibly unexpected and special. On July 22nd, 1986, I received not just one gift but two…
The Accidental Parent 