Mamamia wants to break the code of silence when it comes to telling your birth story. Here, we share detailed, raw and real accounts of what it’s really like to have a baby.
Legend has it that if you are lucky enough to have an easy pregnancy, you are almost certainly guaranteed the kind of labour that precipitates some form of elaborate post-childbirth secrecy code whereby you never instil the horror of what you experienced to any expecting mother, or basically any woman ever, for fear of stalling the ongoing survival of the human race.
It’s like some kind of universal score-evening, fairness policy that means no woman who has decided to bear children truly escapes at least a small helping of “oh my effing god, the closest I’m going to come to bumping uglies with anyone ever again is watching Zayn Malik’s Pillow Talk video clip”.
If this is to be believed, legend would also have it that if you have a good twin pregnancy… Well… when it comes to labour, you’re absolutely screwed.
At least this is how it played out for me.
Only a handful of people closest to me know the details behind my twin's birth story. In some ways this is because of my attempted adherence to aforementioned post-labour secrecy code and my commitment to the continuation of the human race for future generations (you're welcome), and in others it's because there was a good portion of the year following their birth that I couldn't discuss it without crying, so I chose, rather, not to discuss it at all.
But I'm hereby breaking the code, because whilst their birth was traumatic and imperfect (and has possibly left me with a few emotional scars and most certainly an irrational fear of men with large hands), it still brought me two of my three beautiful children, my first son, my first daughter, it made me the mother I so longed to be, and there was absolute beauty beneath the brutal.
I was lucky. My twin pregnancy was a breeze. I am one of those irritating people lots of women would love to punch in the face who glowingly adores every moment of pregnancy and basically waltzes around barefoot in a field with sparrows weaving flowers into her hair feeling like an early spring peach blossom as she sprouts forth new life unto the world.