Who amongst us mothers has ever pondered the billions of inhabitants of earth and thought, “Every person out there got here the same way…labor and birth,” and not immediately thought, “NO WAY!!”? This little revelation is real comfort to the woman just about to give birth, but conversely, is anathema to the recently parturient mama. I know…I’ve been there on both sides of the fence.
You no longer walk. You waddle. You no longer bend over to pick things up. Last month you picked stuff up with your toes, but this month you just kick it under the couch and think, “I’ll get it next month.” You don’t always answer the phone anymore, because you are not sure if you can resist the temptation to respond to the next person who asks if you are still there with, “Actually, I’m not here. I had the baby a week ago and am now vacationing in the Bahamas. Please leave your message at the beep.”
Then one day while pondering the plate of food you can no longer enjoy, what for the heartburn it will cause only moments after eating it, the thought comes to you: Labor. It’s the only way out. Ouch. And right then, some dear soul, another mother, calls. You pick up the phone this time just for the distraction from the disturbing thoughts of “Push!”
“Honey, I just called to encourage you. You know you won’t be pregnant forever, and just think, this is how we all got here. It’s no big deal in the long run, you know? You’ll do just fine. In fact, just think about it, a week from now you could be holding that new little baby!” Thank you, Sister! Somehow you feel a little comforted. A little perspective can be a good thing.
The big day finally arrives, just as you knew it would. Actually, it’s reducing day if we want to talk waistline, here. You’ve been warming up for quite some time. No “false” labor for you, you were just practicing so everything would go smoothly. You are psyched! This is it! Happy, happy birthday!
Well, at least for the first few centimeters.
“I’m how many?” you gasp at the attending medical staff. You mind reels. Whose idea was this to do this today? I’ve changed my mind. Honey, get my bags, we’re going home. Stop this pressure, please; I’d like to get off. Oh, my, what did they tell me to do now? Breathe? How? The nurse has just confirmed you are about half way through the dilation process. You look to your man, the source of your strength, and with a perplexed and stressed look he stammers quietly, “Push?” Uh-oh. He doesn’t know what we’re doing here either, does he?
Now it can get rather scary. Every time you think you remembered something from that child-birth class, one of those killer contractions happens and you forget it all! Which is really no big deal, because nobody ever actually stopped breathing during labor because they forgot how. It’s the same principle as holding your breath until you pass out. As soon as you do, your body says, “Well, that was stupid,” and starts to breathe again.
At last, you give in. No sense fighting this. It’s coming whether we like it or not. Outwardly, you are out of it. But inwardly, you are quite aware of everything. You begin to think how in the world any woman could call this an empowering experience. “If I were empowered,” you think, “I would stop this whole deal right here and now and tell the kid to forget it!” Now THAT’s empowerment. But this? This is the lowest valley of enfeeblement, ladies. That little bundle of joy inside has got you pinned to the bed and you ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘til they get their way. (With practice, this does not have to continue into toddler hood. We should get the upper hand at some point before then…) You think of how you will stare in disbelief at the people who will visit you tomorrow and they’ll tell you how little this baby is, because right now you’d bet your bottom dollar (no pun intended) that this kid weights in at about 25 pounds.
Then at last! The moment of truth comes. I a rush of water and blood and flesh and bone...its out! It’s over! “It’s a ____!” Fill in the blank with the appropriate gender, and hallelujah!! You laugh, you cry, as every emotion in your being rushes forward to greet this new life in a tumble that you cannot possibly sort out.
After the obligatory cord cutting and congrats and clean up, you look about for your man, who you find has grabbed the phone and is fumbling through the list of numbers to call and spread the news: “She had the baby!”
You hear the words, and the smile on your face gives way to a puzzled frown. If you were in a better position, you would take this opportunity to exercise your wifely privilege of correcting your husband when he has erred. “No dear,” you’d say. “You said it all wrong! You simply cannot sum up in just four little words the experience that I have just finished experiencing! I did more that just, “had the baby!” I mean, dear, didn’t you see? Where were you anyway? I mean, I survived, for starters. I was quite sure that I was indeed going to die at one point. But I didn’t. And then I wanted to get off the bed and run away, but I didn’t do that either. I was brave and strong! And then I wanted to scream my guts out, well, I did make a little noise, but I mean you should have heard what I wanted to emit from my being. They call it labor and delivery, and I have just DELIVERED! I mean, I PRODUCED here! I…I…I…” And now you find that you are at a total loss to explain just what it is that you did, and did so well, you might add. All you know is that you did something colossal, monumental, and you want some credit!
As if this is not enough to induce postpartum depression, now you have to contend with: The Visitors. (Pause here for dramatic music…)
You first visitor is the friend who called you to make sure you hadn’t left the planet without letting her know. Yep, as predicted she tells you the baby is so tiny. You inwardly beg to differ. You may agree with her when your rear stops hurting. And then she hits you with the little fact that once held all the comfort you needed to get through labor and delivery: Everybody was born this way! Suddenly, you find yourself reciting the phrase that has become your new mantra, “No way!” Talk about stealing your thunder! Reducing your personal Herculean feat to an event repeated over billions of times, as if it’s nothing more magnificent than a McDonald’s hamburger! How dare she! But all you can do is manage a weak smile, accept her well wishes and look very tired.
Next come The Folks. Yours, his, it doesn’t matter, because it’s really the same. For inevitably, all new grandparents think that the baby in question is nothing less than the best and ultimate in everything and in this you are quite content to agree. And all is pleasant until…yes, the unsolicited advice. Oh my! You had no idea! As your eyes play the back and forth between them like a tennis ball possessed, you promise to keep the toilet lids closed from now on and to get rid of the dog who will now surely be vicious and hostile and the cat that will try to sleep on the baby’s face and you will never buy yard sale baby items and get locks on all the cupboard doors and put all medicines out of reach. You will sanitize every surface the baby comes in contacts with. You pledge never to shorten the child’s name with a nickname, because of course you agree that this is damaging to the personality and you will send them to the best schools, start a college fund today and will not let them play in unfamiliar sand boxes. You won’t let that little newborn push you around with demand feeding, and you won’t spoil him by picking him up every time her cries and thank you very much for coming and that nurse was never such a good sight and she is even now telling you that visiting hours are over!
At last, all is quiet. It’s just you and the little miracle in your arms. You look. You look again. You can’t seem to look enough. And you reflect on that experience called labor. You recall how you swore up and down for the first ten minutes after it was over that you’d never do that again! And now, suddenly, it doesn’t’ seem all that bad. No, not that bad at all, in light of the pride and joy that you feel welling up in your chest and throat and threatening to spill out your eyes. And for all the credit you had wanted for your labor, you suddenly realize that there was much more than you at work here. This was a bona fide, genuine miracle, and you were a very real participant...the leading role in the cast of characters that brought this little life into your arms. And you are humbled, and grateful, and that little baby IS acknowledgment of a labor that was not at all in vain; that this was the beginning of a LIFE – like the beginning of a planet. I think of it as my “Silent Bang Theory”. The effect will now ripple through your universe, and change YOUR life forever – in ways you have never imagined. Now you begin your own creative story - "In the beginning...there was Labor..."
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