I’m not going to go into a lot of detail and facts about birth and bonding-we have the very capable midwife Virginia for that. I did want to talk about two very different, and far from perfect, birth experiences. If I can ask for your indulgence, I’d like to talk about the birth experience of my two daughters. Telling the story is also part of the birth, so any significant others, family or friends of new mommies should be patient when they’re telling you about every contraction they had in real time. Even for adoptive parents, the details of how they adopted, when they found out they would be parents and what their first days were like is important in the telling. With repetition the tale becomes mythic. Eventually it will be told to the child until they too can tell it and it becomes part of the family legend.
With darling daughter #1, I was a very young 22 year-old who had never kept a house plant alive, let alone a real, live baby. Even when I had played with dolls, they were the fashion forward Barbies, not the feed me-burp me-change me baby dolls. I had no idea what I was in for, which in retrospect was good, for I didn’t anticipate pain. I took a Lamaze class and thought that was it. After 8 hours of natural labor, just when I was ready to say, “Ok, I changed my mind, I’m going home now,” I gave birth to a little pink bump of a baby. She was instantly whisked away and measured, poked and prodded, and pronounced safe and sound. When she was finally put in my arms she seemed groggy and confused. I tried putting her to my breast, which was not easy in the hospital gown. The nurse tried to dissuade me, saying she didn’t need to eat yet (the same nurse who told me to stop making so much noise and push, maybe?). Finally I got my boobs free and offered one to the baby, who looked at me like, “What am I supposed to do with this?” I was confused. Don’t little babies know how to nurse? I thought it was instinctual. I got my twenty minutes to “bond” with her and then they scooped her away to the nursery. For more prodding, I suppose. I was encouraged to leave her in the nursery at night, so I could get my rest. (“You’ll have plenty of time with her when you get home.”) They also said it was okay if she had some sugar water. No formula, cause I was breastfeeding, just a little something so she wouldn’t go hungry if I was sleeping.
Fast forward 14 years. I was now 36 and having darling daughter #2. My dreams of a home birth were tempered by my age. I wanted to have her at home, but I wanted to play it safe, too. I even had a
An aside. I really missed the boat by not taking us to Lamaze or another style of birth class. Of course I knew how to breathe, but when I started to lose my nerve, my partner didn’t know how to back me up. He was supportive, but by missing out on the class, he didn’t know how to be a coach. Anyway, I was now screaming at him to get in the car or I’d drive myself. Once in the hospital I was literally getting of the elevator and asking for an epidural. Eons later I got one and all the “stuff” that goes along with it. My pain went away and then my blood pressure dropped, so I got fluid. Then I got a catheter to pee through. Then I wasn’t progressing so I got the pitocin. Then more pitocin.
Fortunately, the baby remained well through all this or I would have bought myself a C-section. But no, finally I was told to push and twenty minutes later I had a BIG, squalling bump on my belly. I couldn’t believe it. She looked very purple, but nobody seemed worried. They dried her off with me helping. Daddy cut the cord. I had a gown with snaps, so she was able to nurse right away. Finally when I had my fill of her (she was pink by then) I said it was okay for them to weigh and measure her. But no pokes and no nasty eye drops. When she was all bundled up they gave her to me. Then everybody congratulated me, told me I did a good job and had a beautiful baby AND LEFT. It was just the four of us-my hubby, my oldest daughter, my new daughter and me. Salome was wide awake, calmly alert, like she had been waiting 9 months for this, just as we had. She made eye contact with all of us, like she was sizing us up. It was such a powerful moment. We stayed like that for how long? An hour or two, maybe, just getting to know each other.
When the baby went for her nursery check-up, Daddy went with her. When I got to my room, the baby came to me and stayed with me the whole time. No bottles, no sugar water. The second night I made a little nest for her in the bed and she slept with me all night, getting up once to nurse and go right back to sleep. The morning nurse scolded me for not waking her to feed (“she’ll dehydrate!”) and for not putting her back in the bassinet. I just put on my best oh-sorry-nurse-I-didn’t-know face and ignored her. After all, my baby and I had a lot of catching up to do. Nine months worth.
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