National Health Warning: Menfolk, I hereby announce that the following article will contain references of a gynaecological and reproductive nature. Placentas, episiotomies and birth canals may feature. Apologies if you were about to tuck into a sausage roll and have now lost your appetite.
Ladies – and the brave, hardy males who didn’t just panic and flick straight to the next page – there are many things in life that I won’t comment on or judge. And, yes, I’ll ignore the snort of derision just emitted by the husband as he read that last sentence over my shoulder.
I’ve absolutely no idea how it feels for blokes to get a boot in the gahoolies, so I couldn’t determine the appropriate reaction. Similarly, I’m thinking that a sack, back and crack wax is probably akin to a Brazilian, but I’m not sure so I won’t compare the two.
Incidentally, I am now typing with my legs crossed.
So you’ll understand, then, why I’m struggling (struggling – meaning to experience the rising of hackles and irresistible urge to utter sentences containing the words ‘bl**dy’ and ‘cheek’) to accept the recent witterings on childbirth from a male doctor who announced that women should not take any form of chemical pain relief during childbirth as the pain is a ‘rite of passage’ and a ‘purposeful, useful thing’ that prepares women for motherhood. Oh, and apparently having epidurals, gas or any other chemical pain relief also impairs a woman’s ability to bond with the baby.
In the name of judgemental tosh, this ludicrous theory just made it onto the pregnancy popularity list somewhere between haemorrhoids and dodgy bladders.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m a strong supporter of any woman who wants a natural birth. It’s an inherently personal choice and every mother should be encouraged to make their decisions based on what’s best for both mum and baby. When I showed up at Paisley Maternity Hospital ready to pop out Low juniors (by the way, whose sick idea was it to put a maternity hospital at the top of a coccyx-crushing big hill?), I had a solid, well-thought-out birth plan in mind.
Enter hospital.
Leave with my baby.
Everything in the middle was up for debate, depending on developments, personal feelings, the advice of the medical professionals and the level of toe-curling agony. In the end, I had epidurals with both babies. And, contrary to this latest nonsense, we all bonded just fine. I wish the esteemed gentleman had been there after the first thirty-two-hour labour to tell me how I was doing it all wrong. I’d have been all ears – right after I’d watched him shoot cricket balls out of a part of his nether-located anatomy normally reserved for another purpose.
As if we didn’t have enough reasons to heap on the mother’s guilt these days (childcare, E-numbers, organic diets, juggling family with career, etc.) without being castigated over our birthing techniques.
I’m also curious to know if this new theory that the lack of parental pain leads to bonding issues extends to the males of the species?
My other half felt absolutely no pain during the birth of our children – although that changed a few weeks later when I found out that when I sent him outside the delivery room to pace for a while, he actually nipped into the telly room for some tea and toast. His ears will have recovered from my reaction to that discovery at some point just before the end of time.
But will the fact that he didn’t experience more than a wee twinge in his elbow as he lifted his mug mean his sons will avoid him in the pub in twenty years’ time?
Or is the arrow of parental guilt and worry just aimed at the species with piles and stretch marks?
Sorry, but I’m not buying it. I think we should have new rules – formal legislation on who can give their opinions on all things pregnant.
To paraphrase that famous old saying, thoust shouldn’t judge a woman until they’ve walked a mile in her shoes… or had their legs in those stirrups.