1
Ooh it’s a divisive subject, labour. Mums fall into two camps: the ones who keep quiet about how bloody, gory and downright painful things can get, instead breezily saying, ‘You forget it all in an instant,’ and the others who share the details of the excruciating agony of every single contraction before some eye watering anecdotes about instruments. Often these ‘memories’ are imparted to younger women and newly pregnant mums to be.
As a twenty something, I worked with women who would gleefully share (and over share) their birth stories
SelfishMother.com
2
across the desk on a Wednesday morning as if we were discussing last night’s telly. Episiotomies, tears, surgery, labours that lasted seemingly decades, were all voiced with jolly abandon. Given these women had mainly had their kids at least 10 years previously, their pain and suffering had clearly dimmed but I reckon they’d layered on a few extra juicy tidbits for dramatic effect. Meanwhile, the yet-to-feel-maternal colleagues, like me, sat wide-eyed, going off our lunches rapidly and resisting the urge to cross our legs.
It was these eye-opening
SelfishMother.com
3
chats that made me resolve to be less revelatory should I ever have a baby. Sure, if people have asked, then I’ve shared details. But scaring other women just didn’t seem fair to me. It’s the maternal version of men crowing about sports injuries.
In the last few weeks a few good friends have gone through the life-changing trauma that birth can be. Only now do they feel able to utter the possible truths about having a baby and for some, five weeks in is still too early to recall moments of placenta-related drama. One referred to honest birth chat
SelfishMother.com
4
as a ‘conspiracy’ – meaning you don’t really have a truthful birth exchange with another women until you’ve had your own first child. I think she’s right.
Too preoccupied with buying the right colour cellular blankets and working out which travel system suits you best, the physical act of delivering your baby is a cloudy, fuzzy dream. Most women don’t even know what day they’ll give birth so the whole thing feels abstract at best.
I’m now expecting my second baby and while I am no expert on childbirth I think I’ll go into my
SelfishMother.com
5
next (hopefully quicker) labour with a bit more of an idea of what to expect. First time round, our obligatory NCT class didn’t mention the glamorous afterbirth chaos: the stitches, the painkiller management, and the issues with climbing stairs… But would cold, hard facts about contractions and the battle the early days of breastfeeding can be have left me and my fellow new mums-to-be feeling empowered or weeping, quivering wrecks?
While I might have liked a bit more of a reality check when it came to the pain and tiredness that came with my
SelfishMother.com
6
son’s arrival, since becoming a mum, I’ve mainly taken the silent approach – only sharing details when asked and hoping, second time around, knowledge equals power. *Uncrosses legs*
SelfishMother.com
This blog was originally posted on SelfishMother.com - why not sign up & share what's on your mind, too?
Why not write for Selfish Mother, too? You can for free and post immediately.
We regularly share posts on @SelfishMother Instagram and Facebook :)
Jo Dunbar - 7 Sep 15
Ooh it’s a divisive subject, labour. Mums fall into two camps: the ones who keep quiet about how bloody, gory and downright painful things can get, instead breezily saying, ‘You forget it all in an instant,’ and the others who share the details of the excruciating agony of every single contraction before some eye watering anecdotes about instruments. Often these ‘memories’ are imparted to younger women and newly pregnant mums to be.
As a twenty something, I worked with women who would gleefully share (and over share) their birth stories across the desk on a Wednesday morning as if we were discussing last night’s telly. Episiotomies, tears, surgery, labours that lasted seemingly decades, were all voiced with jolly abandon. Given these women had mainly had their kids at least 10 years previously, their pain and suffering had clearly dimmed but I reckon they’d layered on a few extra juicy tidbits for dramatic effect. Meanwhile, the yet-to-feel-maternal colleagues, like me, sat wide-eyed, going off our lunches rapidly and resisting the urge to cross our legs.
It was these eye-opening chats that made me resolve to be less revelatory should I ever have a baby. Sure, if people have asked, then I’ve shared details. But scaring other women just didn’t seem fair to me. It’s the maternal version of men crowing about sports injuries.
In the last few weeks a few good friends have gone through the life-changing trauma that birth can be. Only now do they feel able to utter the possible truths about having a baby and for some, five weeks in is still too early to recall moments of placenta-related drama. One referred to honest birth chat as a ‘conspiracy’ – meaning you don’t really have a truthful birth exchange with another women until you’ve had your own first child. I think she’s right.
Too preoccupied with buying the right colour cellular blankets and working out which travel system suits you best, the physical act of delivering your baby is a cloudy, fuzzy dream. Most women don’t even know what day they’ll give birth so the whole thing feels abstract at best.
I’m now expecting my second baby and while I am no expert on childbirth I think I’ll go into my next (hopefully quicker) labour with a bit more of an idea of what to expect. First time round, our obligatory NCT class didn’t mention the glamorous afterbirth chaos: the stitches, the painkiller management, and the issues with climbing stairs… But would cold, hard facts about contractions and the battle the early days of breastfeeding can be have left me and my fellow new mums-to-be feeling empowered or weeping, quivering wrecks?
While I might have liked a bit more of a reality check when it came to the pain and tiredness that came with my son’s arrival, since becoming a mum, I’ve mainly taken the silent approach – only sharing details when asked and hoping, second time around, knowledge equals power. *Uncrosses legs*
Did you enjoy this post? If so please support the writer: like, share and comment!
Why not , too? You can share posts & events immediately. It's free!
Jo Dunbar is a freelance writer and has worked as a journalist at various magazines and newspapers for over 10 years. No longer in London, Jo is bringing up her son William (with husband Chris) in Newcastle upon Tyne. Between soft play and sensory classes Jo can be found at her laptop or underneath a mountain of laundry.