turning over a new leaf

feb 7.06

the peach painted walls are nauseating and the poor lighting reflects on the brightly polished floor.  the mothers-to-be are waiting… exhausted.  the partners are taking it all in, doe-eyed.  convincing themselves that this hospital tour is actually important.  that they will be back and it will be the real deal next time.  the pregnant women are clustered in the lobby; we’re waiting for the hospital tour guide to begin.  the novelty of having a tummy that shows has clearly worn off.  we pregnant women look like rosy apples at harvest time, just wanting to be plucked and relieved of the weight.

the tour begins…

we make our way to the labour and delivery ward.  we file into room 2.  it’s a large room, pepto-bismal pink curtains, the usual hospital equipment, a wooden rocking chair in the corner aiming to look quaint and nursery-like.  in a room full of 20 pregnant ladies, who gets the chair?  everyone not pregnant wants to be chivalrous, but there’s just too many of us ladies to accommodate.  we all stand. 

“this is the room, this is the process… this is …” the tour guide rambles on.   my mind is lost.  i just want some pasta to eat.  and then some antacids probably.

feb 25.06

we’re back at the hospital.  it’s the real deal now. 

as i’m rolled into labour and delivery in my wheelchair, i see the nurses at the front desk size me up.  they’re looking at me.  they’re evaluating.  “first time mom?” is probably what they’re thinking.  i’ve gotten that a lot.  it’s as though you don’t get taken seriously if you’re a “first time mom.”  i’m cordial.  (which is big of me considering i’m easily along into labour).

it’s seems as though i actually know what i’m talking about.  i get admitted.  i get a room.  i get room 2.  the same one that our tour took place in.  it’s a strange feeling to be the action and no longer a spectator. 

i hear infants crying in the neighbouring rooms.  a dad walks by.  he looks relieved and tired.  his child has come.  it must be a good feeling to be on the other side.  it hits me.  my baby will be crying soon too.  what will it sound like?  my silent oneness will split and become it’s own.

labour is somewhat like the moment when your life flashes before your eyes.  my only experience with anything similar to this before was a serious car accident.  it’s as though time stands still and your senses are aware and heightened.  everything seems like slow motion, and yet it really isn’t that long. 

“it’s a girl!” the nurse announces at the moment that nine full months have culminated into her arrival.

a child is born.