So today, I'm going to talk about birth. Mine and in comparison, my seven children's.
Mine wasn't a "good" birth, as birthing experiences go, according to my mother. Although, it was good enough, in that I'm alive, and relatively unscathed.
I'm pretty sure my mum had and still has, something like borderline personality disorder, or complex trauma PTSD or even a mild form of histrionic or narcissistic personality disorder, or narcissistic "wounding". One mental health professional that both I, over many, many years, have seen and my mother saw, once, simply told me "You're mother is a very damaged woman". It's possibly that she's also a undiagnosed, traumatized and neglected Autistic woman.
Anyway, enough of the pathologizing, coz, I'm not a clinician, but figuring out what's going on with my mum, is really key, to my whole story. It's not been fun, or comfortable with her, ever, except for rare occasions.
So my birth; I was a couple of weeks, maybe, three weeks early, and I wasn't "cooked", but, my mum is very highly strung and a very stressed out person, and she has high blood pressure, so they made her go in early.
Unfortunately, it must have been a "training" hospital, because a doctor brough in a bunch of new students and they were "inspecting" her (horror, of horrors! In my opinion!) and her/my "waters" were accidently broken.
It could have just been a leak, but, anyway, panic and knee jerk reactions seemed to be the order of the day and they decided to induce. Now, I wasn't ready to pop yet, so the syntosin, the inducing drug, didn't work. So they upped the dose. The way I heard it, they did this a couple of times, until, contractions hit her, like a wall, no break, no gaps, no breathing space. I can't even comprehend how painful and horrible this must have been, because, as I've said, I've given birth seven times and those gaps between contractions are the difference between unbearable pain and pain-that-is-only-just tolerable.
I'm not sure if the epidural had even kicked in yet, somehow I feel like it affected me, it wasn't given in time to save my mum from extremely traumatic pain and a humiliating birthing experience, but, apparently, I was so dopey and sleepy, I wouldn't suckle.
We didn't really get to do that "bonding" thing, that people talk about, and, yes, I got to experience, with my son's and daughter's.
I continued to be a "bad" feeder, for some time, but, ironically, we featured in a book about and called "How mammals feed". I was a newborn and I recall seeing myself in the book, being fed at my mother's breast.
My children were all born in soft light, warm water, quietly, undrugged and without intervention. But perhaps, those stories, are for another day.
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