Every Mother is a Goddess
In her book Misconceptions: Truth, Lies, and the Unexpected on the Journey to Motherhood, feminist writer and mother, Naomi Wolf speaks about her experience of becoming a mother for the first time. One of the things she wrote that stood out for me was how this highly regarded intellectual, academic, writer, author, woman, suddenly found herself to be an unseen person. She was walking down the street with her infant, and one of her students walked right past her, did not recognise her, in fact, the student did not even see her. I know that before I gave birth, I did not value mothers or motherhood in the way I did after I gave birth for the first time. I loved my mother and I respected her, but I do not think that I fully valued or saw who she was and what she had done to bring me into this world. During my first labour, I remember my mother’s eyes, soft, dark, familiar, slightly concerned, loving, strong, holding me, carrying me through this experience. And I remember at one point asking her, “How the hell did you do this four times?” She smiled, then laughed softly, shook her head and said, “I don’t know…” And continued to hold me with her gentle touch and soft eyes. After I gave birth for the first time I was high, the love hormone oxytocin coursing through my entire being. The world melted away and the importance of anything beyond the little bubble of warm cosy devotion I inhabited with my newborn son, evaporated. Everything dissolved, except for my deep connection, regard, admiration, and respect for all mothers in the world. I saw mothers and motherhood in a new light and I wanted to bow at the feet of all motherhood. I could feel their sweat, their pain, their love. And any mother who had given birth more than once, was most certainly a goddess. Her work, her love, was beyond my comprehension and understanding. I was in awe. Standing on the other end of having given birth four times myself (and that lovely strong bolus of oxytocin long having left my system) and now having attended numerous births, I feel very strongly that our work as those present at births is to mother the new mother. When a woman births, not only is a baby being born, but so is a mother. How we treat her will affect how she feels about herself as a mother and as a parent. Be gentle. Be kind. Listen. She knows best. She is the mother of this child after all. Or as the mother of midwifery, Ina May Gaskin so eloquently put it: ”If a woman doesn’t look like a goddess during labor, then someone isn’t treating her right.” Happy Mother’s Day…to all the...
Read MoreWhat is it About Birth?
What is it about birth? It is as though time suspends itself and something unique unfolds from within the labouring woman. She has purred, sighed, breathed, whimpered, cried her way through her contractions, these life giving pains which make her rock her hips, make her moan and groan, make her eyes roll back in her head, make her sweat, make her hate, make her angry, make her one, make her have to give in, give up, surrender. And as she surrenders something primal is unlocked and this, this essence, this power takes over, her body is no longer her own. She sits on the loo, or she squats, or she kneels, or she lies on her side.She grunts and moans, red slime drips down her thighs, she feels overwhelmed. She may stand up, she may look up, she may feel with her hand as the head of the baby slowly stretches her perineum. She seems more alert now. There. Present. She may crouch down, or breathe, or gasp, or moan, or scream as her baby’s head emerges, not quite believing the sensation of this slimy little head stretching stretching stretching her wide open. The head emerges and hangs, almost lifeless. The world holds its breath. Then a splutter, or a crackle, or a bubble of spittle and a grimace. Then slowly, slowly, the baby’s head turns – as though ready to face the world and with a newfound power, the little body ejects itself, swimming forth in a gush of blood and water and shit. Again, it is as though time has suspended itself as the baby, still aquatic in its features and colour, begins to move, sometimes throwing its arms back and stretching its back like a ballet dancer, and sometimes uncurling slowly slowly slowly as though waking from a deep sleep. A gurgle, a crackle, a soft cry. Slippery body, oily white vernix, blinking eyes, stretching fingers and toes. Cord pulsating. Body breathing. Mother touching. Stroking. Smelling. Kissing. Whispering. Crying. Laughing. Grateful. Astonished. Astounded. Holding. Loving. Ecstatic. Triumphant. Perfect. Beautiful. Primal. Sublime. What is it about birth?...
Read MoreWho Cares for the Midwives?
Midwifery can be very lonely. Midwifery is very much a calling and something that those who choose to walk this path, do because they want to ensure a safe and holy passage for mother and baby. Midwives believe in the sanctity of birth and know that protecting the mother during pregnancy and through the birthing process will ensure that the mother bonds with her baby and will make her a better mother. Midwives believe in women’s ability to birth and it is the midwife that is that solid rock during labour when the mother feels she can no longer do it. Midwives encourage. Midwives listen. Midwives trust. Midwives are there for the mother. Midwives are there for the father. Midwives are there for the baby. But who is there for the midwife? Who cares for the midwife? Who can she turn to when she has had a scary experience? Who rallies around her? Midwifery can be very lonely. When a midwife is called out to a birth at three in the morning and cold rain is ripping at the windscreen of her car, it can be very lonely. As the clock ticks and the world is asleep and no one else is awake, it can be very lonely. When a midwife writes up her notes and heads home to her bed it can be very lonely. When a midwife has to deal with an emergency, she has to think quickly on her feet and act to save a life, or two, it can be very lonely. When a midwife has to transfer to hospital and stay strong for the mother, all the while feeling worried herself, it can be lonely. So why do midwives do it? Why do they keep doing it? What drives them? Because it is a calling. There is a pull, something unstoppable. Because it is beautiful. The soft sigh of a woman finding her rhythm as she labours. The gentle splash as she moves about the birth pool. Because it is awe inspiring. To be a witness, a guardian, of the birth of a new life. Not only the birth of the baby, but also the birth of a mother. Because it is empowering. There is something incredible about a woman in labour tapping into her own innate instincts. Because it is...
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