On the 24th is my daughter's 2nd birthday and we're going to have a small celebration with the family and closest friends. Here in the Philippines, it is mandatory to celebrate the baby's first birthday. Last year, I decided to break tradition. We didn't hold a grand celebration which raised a lot of brows especially from the grandparents. I have my reasons! One, I don't want to spend money for a party my baby won't even remember. And two, I'm still mad at her for wrecking her mummy's "gates of heaven." It took months before that sore feeling went away! And it wasnt the "it is on to the break of dawn" kind of sore. No! It l's the "I promise I'll be a better person" kind of sore.
Oh, 18 hours of labor! 18 hours of indescribable pain! From 12:00 AM that day, I have been feeling like I want to poop but can't. You know how that feels? "Oh, I think it's going out now." Then you push but only air comes out. And have you ever had dysmenorrhea? You know, that menstrual pain we women always have every month? I don't suffer from that monthly but two years ago, it looked like mothwr nature gave me a full blow of 32 years worth of dysmenorrhea.
I couldn't weigh though which one was more unbearable - the pain I was feeling or the thought that two-shift batches of doctors and nurses "worked" on me that day. Yeah! There were three - no four - I think five doctors who checked to see if I was fully dilated. You know how they check? Yep. They poke through mummy's gates of heaven. They were really nice though because they kept saying "I'm sorry ma'am, I'll just check if baby's ready to come out." I was like Kid, seriously, how many doctors need to knock before you decide to come out?"
It was like that for the whole day and I wasn't allowed to eat. When my OB Gyne finally arrived by lunch time, I pleaded for him to allow my husband to bring me food. I figured if my daughter is gonna overstay in my tummy, I need to recharge my food supply because she's still feeding inside me through her umbilical cord. And besides I wanted to see my husband's face just so I will remember the face of the person who brought me to this agony.
When finally my daughter decided she doesn't want to stay in my belly anymore - 18 hours later - I was transferred from the labor room to the delivery room.
They turned me around, with all my naked glory being flashed to the doctors. I showed all of me to these people I don't even remember! They gave me an epidural. Then they transferred me from the labor bed to the delivery bed. Two doctors were holding my legs, another my hips, then my shoulders and my head. I was being manhandled. Like a pig!
A few seconds later after the admission of epidural, I was chilling. Not the beer on one hand, remote on the other kind of chill. I was shaking uncontrollably! I was panicking. One of the doctors said "That's a normal reaction, just relax." Sure, I can relax. I was wearing a lab gown and they wanted me to keep my knees apart and my legs bent. What is this? A live show or something? If these people could relax at this kind of situation, I will never hang out with them! Not in a million years!
Then we practiced how to push. You wouldn't expect a first time mother to just know how to push a child out from her stomach, would you? I think there should be a subject in schools that would include childbirth in their curriculum. I bet the population growth would decline ever so rapidly.
Then I heard her cry. I was expecting to be teary eyed as soon as the doctor hands her over to me. But when I saw her, the first words I said to her were "Why do you look like your father?"
Nine months of pregnancy. Eighteen hours of labor. Several stitches down below. And yet she comes out looking like her father. I want justice! But I still love her with all my heart.
You should be nice to your moms, you know. If you are already nice, well you should be nicer to her. She went through hell and a whole lot of humiliation just to bring you into this world. So go back home, give your mom a hug, a kiss and a whole lot of lovin. She deserves so much more than that.
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