The birth – don’t forget the video camera.

A long way from home - 26 Feb 16

When I was pregnant with my first child, I bought ‘What to expect when you are expecting’ and as my due date approached I dutifully packed everything (and I mean EVERYTHING) the book recommended from lip balm, music and ear plugs (why, I’m not sure) to of course breast pads, maternity pads and disposable knickers. As I recall, nowhere did it suggest I pack a video camera. So I didn’t. It never occurred to me, like taking a trampoline on a camping holiday; it just wasn’t part of the script. So, with enough baggage for a round-the-world trip, we set off on our expedition into the unknown.

The birth was straightforward and in the subsequent weeks I enjoyed sharing our story with the NCT group, friends, shelf -stackers in the supermarket, anyone who was willing to listen, or who couldn’t get away. The more I shared my experience, the more I started to think about what my body had in fact done and how everyone else in the labour room (two midwives, student midwife and my husband) had ringside seats (pun intended) and I felt I had missed out.

I soon decided if we were to have more children, I would like to witness this extraordinary process after the event and as many times as I wanted. For the birth of our second child I didn’t repeat the packing-for-an-expedition scenario as I had him (that always sounds inadequate like ‘I had an omelette.’ or ‘I had a shower’) at home. The second midwife arrived about 20 minutes before he entered the world, so after a quick run-down by my husband on how to use the video camera, she sat back and unobtrusively started recording a couple of minutes before the birth and for a couple of minutes after. I saved the video onto a disk and would every now and again watch my body give birth to his body. Amazing and yet so normal. Normal and yet so amazing. Having not watched the video for many months, maybe even a year or more, I came across it when I was in the office, popped it into the computer and…..it didn’t work. And I had no other copies. Sad at the knowledge of not being able to watch his birth ever again and frustrated with myself for only making one copy, all I could do was shrug off the disappointment, which in the whole scheme of work, children, family and friends was not a big deal. Three years later, however, I discovered I was unexpectedly pregnant again.

Third time lucky….

As before, we had a home birth and the second midwife arrived 20 minutes before my daughter was born and again willingly videoed it all for me. This time I was more careful and saved the video onto a couple of disks and onto two computers. I watch it at irregular intervals, not on any special occasions but usually when I am uploading photos onto the computer and I see the file called ‘birth’. I indulge myself and watch as I push and heave this life into the bath and the midwife scoops her onto my chest and in that exhausted relaxed atmosphere in the minutes after my daughter came to exist in this world, the second midwife keeps on videoing and I have the privilege and pleasure of watching myself kiss my newborn’s head and utter my first words to her.

Last year the children were flicking through photos on the computer, laughing, reminiscing and arguing about whose turn it was to click on the next album, and one of them set the computer to run through the photos continuously. It was great. We would be going about our business in the house and at any time could glance at the computer and there were treasured memories of family outings, birthdays, landscapes, the long since gone family dog. On one particular occasion my youngest called out to me, “Mummy what are you doing in the bath?” What is she talking about? I’m not in the bath; I’m in the kitchen washing up. But she was insistent that I was in the bath and indeed she was right – on the computer – I was in our bath giving birth to her. What to do? Do I rush over and press the skip button and make up some implausible explanation about needing to be in the bath to really clean it thoroughly? No. I pressed paused, explained to her that it was a video of when she was born, in fact of when she was being born, and asked her if she would like to see it. Of course she wanted to see it. Children love looking at photos of themselves and hearing stories of their first utterances, first steps, funny conversations. All of it.

She had always loved the story of my first words to her and perhaps the only reason I knew them is, not because it was an actual memory, but it was a fact I had witnessed each time I watched the video of her birth. So we sat together in quiet contemplation watching the few minutes before her head first appeared, and then hearing the midwife say “a lively one” as with just her head out she turned to the right and then to the left, and on the next contraction – she was out into her new world. She nuzzles on my chest, the midwife puts a towel over her, my husband strokes my hair and I bend forward, kiss her head and say, “Hello precious.”

Watching the video was not overwhelming for her and not underwhelming either, it just was. She didn’t react any more or less than when watching a video of herself as a toddler determinedly and repeatedly climb up a slide and slip down, or playing musical cushions at her last birthday party.

I know I am fortunate to have, what for me, were positive birth experiences and I am thankful that I have been able to watch my body give life. Really stop and think about it: Bringing. Forth. Life – by whatever means. Your body grows this little human and brings it into the world, like a gazillion other births, but every new life is a miracle (I think I may have plagiarised that from ‘Matilda the Musical’. Thank you Tim Minchin – I couldn’t have put it better myself).

A long way from home

She was plucked from the bosom of Mother England and sentenced to 10 years of hard core whingeing in the land of Kylie and The Wiggles. Her crime? To fall in love with an Australian who gallantly shivered his way through 11 English winters (and a few summers) and who eventually persuaded her to pack up their three children and move to Oz. She is a long way from home.

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