Like all new mummies do, I’m going to publicly exclaim about the new status of my breasts and then go on to marvel at my experience of childbirthing…
My tits are now slightly bigger (really, it’s only slightly), oozing the white miraculous drink called ‘milk’ and occasionally feel almost as hard as rocks due to engorgement. (P.S. Please google the terms for description if you’re dumbfounded by them. Save me the effort to search for suitable links, ok? ) I’m proud to announce that Joshua has sucked me dry of colostrum and I am now producing proper milk. This morning I managed to pump out 1 ounce and ease some of the weight off my chest.
An ounce is too little for a feed, and yet not pathetic enough to be just tossed away. So PapaNash told me to store it in the fridge anyway, in the event that I pass out at night, at least he’s got some spare milk to feed Joshua.
The labour and delivery experience was out of this world. It’s WAY more humiliating and degrading than most would actually share, so from time to time, I’ll blog about the TRUTH of the matter.
For starters, let’s just throw in some terms that you may or may not be familiar with:
- urethral catheter, accompanied with the obvious urine bag
- vaginal examinations (carried out by various strangers periodically)
What I’m going to reveal in short chunks is probably going to debunk the myths of supposed ‘female empowerment’ through childbirth. All those images of brave women enduring the process of labour contractions and then the ultimate task of squeezing a miniature human being out of their most sensitive private parts are HOGWASH. Before the bravery emerges, the laboring woman would probably have already undergone several degrading pre-delivery procedures. And at such a vulnerable state of regularly gripping contractions and exposed genitalia, the situation feels even more dismal than it would actually be.
Imagine being commanded to go without your underwear, clad only in a back-baring hospital gown (inclusive of your giant cellulite bum) and having random strangers come around to feel you up vigorously. Throw in the enema to clear your bowels in order to avoid you shitting all over yourself and the medical assisting staff during the pushing stage. And the tube inserted into your peehole to drain out your urine, as you would be immobile to go pee in independent privacy. The picture is not a pretty one, even though the baby is hours away from being exiled from Womb World.
You know your life will never be the same again when you have spread your legs for more women in a single day than you have for men in your entire life. Also, having entire strangers come round to ask you if you’ve gone to shit yet is just plain embarrassing. Maybe all this is in good faith, since kids have the most ingenious methods of landing their parents in seemingly impossible situations that led to even more disastrous results than just plain embarrassment. Like taking a very loud and smelly dump in a crowded restaurant while everyone is eating.