Saturday, October 29, 2011

Things Wot I Have Learned

Anyone have any niggling questions about the whole experience of giving birth? Well guess what: I'm now officially qualified to give you some answers. So, without further ado, based upon my own experience, here are some things I didn't know about labour and birth before this week:

What are contractions like? Imagine the worst abdominal cramping you've ever had. Now multiply that by five. Now picture it wrapping around your back and sides and front like an invisible Girdle of Pain. Oh, and imagine that girdle tightening and twinging and aching every three to seven minutes like clockwork...for 20 hours without ceasing. (And then imagine finally getting to rest because of an epidural!)

What is it like to push a baby out? I was slightly surprised by this one, but go check any pregnancy website, and it's just like it says on the tin: think of it like pushing out a 7-pound poop. Yes: this is the point where noses are wrinkled in disgust and we all think, "did you really need to go there?" Well, no, I didn't need to, but consider yourself accurately forewarned should you decide to push a baby out some time in your future. No one's exaggerating or finding a close-but-not-really-accurate really is like that.

What is your body like afterwards? Weird. I think that pretty much sums it up. Because your abs have been so distended by the tiny person expanding your uterus for the past nine months, they don't just snap back into place like a rubber band. Even right now, I'm still quite loose and saggy-feeling in the front. My muscles are still strong enough that I can pull them in like a corset (or like before I was pregnant when I wanted to hide my fat when trying on cute clothes!), but they do hang quite a bit, so I still look about 4 months pregnant. It's not too bad, though: at least my boobs finally overshadow my waist again! Hell: I have a waist again!

Do you really go through it like they show on TV? Let me say for the record: TV is lies. I know we've all seen a birth in a movie or on TV. Either it's a fictional drama where the water breaks spontaneously before any other sign of labour and the mother must be rushed to the hospital in a flurry of squealing tyres and vociferous swearing, the like of which would put most sailors to shame - or it's a reality TV program that involves lots of dramatic pauses and carefully selected edits of the hours-long process that only show the mom when she's at her worst: sweating and crying and screaming from exhaustion and pain, berating her baby-daddy for getting her into this position in the first place, and calling out for an epidural like a schizophrenic junkie jonsing for meth.

Let me say, I had an epidural - and I needed it - but I wasn't screaming. I confess, I cried, but I was tired and in pain, and essentially just told my lovely midwives, "It's just been so long that I can't do this any more without some more help." Plus, you don't have to lie down, legs spread, in the mother of all undignified positions in order to give birth after an epidural. I sat up on the end of the bed and was propped up in some foot-rests. Nothing terribly undignified in all of that. And really: before the epi I did sob during some of the more painful contractions, but I didn't do any of the characteristic groaning or crying out until I was pushing Ethan out. And that wasn't even because of any pain: it's just a bit like the 'roid-monsters at the gym lifting weights in an effort to overcompensate for...something. You just have to make a noise when you're going through such a serious physical exertion: you honestly can't help it.

What about the general idea of the indignity of giving birth? Not nearly as bad as I thought it'd be. Because everyone who has anything to do with getting you through the birth of your baby is not only very sweet and attentive, but extremely professional, it's very easy to get over any awkwardness about dropping trou for a perfect stranger. Plus, you don't actually have to be uncomfortably exposed for very much of the whole process anyway. I mean, I know I'm no prude, but by the end of it all when one of the midwives mentioned the possibility of my being uncomfortable about having everyone on the labour ward so - well - up close and personal with my business, I was able to laugh it off and tell her honestly that you get over it pretty quickly. They're all good enough to treat it like it's no big deal, which helps you stay relaxed. And really; it's in everyone's best interest to keep the agonised pregnant lady as relaxed as is humanly possible.

As I say: in the end, it's all been worth it. Goodness knows how long it'll take before we manage to master the whole sleeping-for-more-than-5-minutes-without-being-held conundrum, or sufficiently decode which cries are for food and which are for gas pains and which are for a desperate need for more love and attention, but we will get there. And while we try, I take satisfaction in knowing that little E is all mine (though yeah, I share him with Seb). He's my son, with my nose, and my habit of sleeping with one hand curled under my cheek. I enjoy how strange that sounds, and yet, how I'm actually allowed to say it. I have a son! And as I have maintained from the moment they plopped him onto my chest in the delivery room, all slimy and covered in a less-than-metaphorical version of our combined blood, sweat, and tears...he's perfect. Absolutely, unequivocally, and sublimely perfect. I have to keep reminding myself that as well as I feel like I already know him in some ways: we've only really known each other for three days! We're still new to each other and there's certainly a learning curve, but it's a curve that will be full of fun moments and hilarious discoveries.

So yeah: I'm still quite a lot of interesting and awesome things as a person, but I'm also a person who changes diapers, gets excited about pee or poop (because it means he's eating well!), knows how to wrap a baby better than a Chipotle burrito, can have a pacifier in her mouth without being on drugs at a rave (and have it be vaguely socially acceptable), and who - for the first time - cares for someone who is completely dependent upon her...and to all appearances, if as fond of her as it's possible for a tiny human to be. I'm a momma now.

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