Point the finger, or hold the hand
There is nothing like being in the throws of labor to make you contemplate EVERY decision (sexual or not) in your LIFE! (WHY?) Let me back up. If you’ve never given birth, what you must imagine is feeling as though your body has been hijacked and at the mercy of a yet unknown individual who has put you in the co-pilot seat for an unspecified amount of time, to a yet unknown destination. Let’s unpack this. The moment a woman suspects that she may be pregnant, the thought lingers in the back of her mind, like the song you get stuck in your head (whether you like the song or not). Planned or not, pregnancy is a shock.
The sheer idea of being responsible for another human (after said human possesses your entire physicality and hormonal structure) releases a myriad of thought patterns that had never previously taken place in her mind. Two moms exist in this scenario, the mom who has been longing to experience the joy of carrying a child, and in preparation has mapped in her mind the moment she will hold this baby in her arms. The second mom has had the news delivered to her, and her perception is that her body (her life, in fact) has been served a summons. Each mom has envisioned a future with a tiny stranger who is certain to change the course of her life. Forever. If you return to the last statement and reread it, imagining that all of your needs are supplied and that you have moral support, this statement reads differently when support is a luxury, rather than a standard.
Reading the pregnancy test results (interpreting or translating, depending on the model) is one of the first hurdles moms encounter. It’s the LONGEST FIVE MINUTES OF YOUR LIFE! The sheer flood of emotion makes your heart race as you look for an acceptable surface to place the tiny plastic messenger, you pace the bathroom, visiting that spot on the sink to watch and witness the signs slowly changing, like tiny bubbles forming at the bottom of a pan before the water boils. As you pace you imagine whom you tell first and what they’ll say. One mom imagines calling her husband at work and telling him that soon she’ll set the table for three. Another mom imagines calling her job and asking for more hours hoping to bank what she can, until she no longer can. The test comes back positive and shrieks bellow from each bathroom and tears flow. Each mom has just entered a mental space that is completely foreign to her. One mom considers what she’ll say to prove that she’s able to continue working when she begins to show, and another mom ponders the color of her nursery. In either scenario, life is never the same. I’ve been in each mother’s shoes, a teen mother, afraid to see the second line appear fearing what my pastor, my dad, my mom, my brother would think of me. I imagined how many people would judge me, criticize me and treat me like a statistic. During the labor and delivery of my son, one nurse told me that I should have considered this pain when I chose to make this baby. I wondered had she told the married lady down the hall that same thing. I’ve been the wife, ready to leap into my husband’s waiting arms and share the news, giving him the best gift imaginable. The difference in the tears I shed in each scenario was based on the support that I had. Knowing that I wouldn't walk alone through this new journey had a profound effect on my acceptance of pregnancy and my perception of motherhood, and even the pain of labor was different, knowing that I mattered to someone. I couldn’t bear the pain of being a number during the most challenging stage of my life. What I needed, more than anything was a hand to hold.