When she sleeps in my lap, I gaze at her. I gaze at her because I still find it hard to believe that I carried her for nine months. I touch her soft hair, her tiny fingers and toes, I pull her little round nose, I squeeze her cheeks and gently massage her arms. No, nothing wakes her up. She squirms for a few seconds but does not become fully awake. She perhaps knows that she is in a place that is as safe as it can be.
The pain was harrowing, nothing I ever felt before. The twenty-three hours of labour seemed like twenty-three days of suffering. Her back was against my back when her back should have been against my belly. The result? Back-breaking labour. Yes, I had back labour, which is far more painful that normal labour. I thought I would pass out. A few times I thought I would die giving birth to my daughter. In spite of everything it was the first time in my life I thought I was strong. I always had an idea that I was physically weak but the birth of Wareesha just blew that idea away.
One interesting thing about childbirth is that the mother's brain somehow erases the traumatic experience within hours. So, twelve hours after I delivered I was walking in my hospital room, ordering food service for meals and speaking over the phone. I will always wonder how my mind so quickly wiped out the trauma I experienced only several hours earlier.
I knew I would have a natural childbirth. My obstetrician took time to explain to me why a Caesarian section was not a good idea. I was convinced. Although soon after the contractions began, I thought nothing but a C-section could take care of that agonising pain. I asked the on-call doctor if a C-section was a good idea. She said it was not and then went on to tell me about the long healing time and a lifelong scar in the abdomen. She asked me why I was eager to go through a major surgery when it was not necessary. Of course, I did not have a logical answer for it. I could have said that the pain was unbearable but it would have sounded so silly -- who said childbirth was “picnic in the woods?”
Mom, hubby and I waited patiently for the contractions to become regular. But they never really became regular until a nurse added synthetic oxytocin, also known as Love Hormone, to my intravenous fluid. As the hormone began to take its "lovely" effect I felt my world crushing in on me. I literally lost my voice. I tried to whisper and let the world know that I was feeling an unearthly pain but I could not. Only a mother, who has been through natural childbirth, would know what I am trying to mean. At one point when I could not take the pain anymore I asked for epidural anesthesia.
The labour nurse asked me beforehand if I wanted her to clean the baby first or if I wanted the baby right away. I said I wanted the baby right away. So, when Wareesha was finally out of my womb after twenty-three hours, the doctor wrapped her in a blanket and placed her on me. Before that, she offered hubby a pair of special scissors to cut the umbilical cord. I could see the father of the child almost shaking in excitement -- he was overwhelmed by what he had been observing for the past twenty-three hours.
There was my blood and fluid on our baby's little body. She smelled of blood but not really like blood. Her body had a very distinct smell. Even after three months when I close my eyes and inhale, I can smell it, the distinct smell that my baby had.
I often miss being pregnant. I miss the special treatment I got from strangers - people always made way for me in the streets, in banks and shopping places. Women behind cash registers often asked what I was having and upon hearing that I was having a girl they would let out an awww-like sound. Although I do not know if they genuinely cared for a random customer, but it made me feel special.
My child came to this world and gave me a new identity. My new identity now ranks above all my other identities. When I look at myself in the mirror, I see an overweight me with stretch marks, a wider waist and fat arms, but they do not bother me. My body may never be lean like before but that is a small price I had to pay for my brand new identity.
Date of publication: The Daily Star, January 2013
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