Birth through the ages

My maternal grandmother was "an afterthought". She was the eighth child born in the back bedroom on her family's farm. Her birth certificate listed her official birthplace as RR#19 but it was in a small prairie house somewhere near Yorkton. I imagine it as one of those birthing scenes in cowboy movies where you just hear the audio behind a closed wooden door and then a plump baby is shown swaddled in the arms of a fresh-faced mother who would later that day be milking cows and sweeping out stalls. I highly doubt that was the actual case but it makes for a good story.

That little "afterthought" went on to bear two children in her thirties. Her petite frame "belly" birthed two babies in the 1950's. My own mother was the second of the two and she was a preemie. My tiny grandma had a tiny baby through a big operation - a c-section was no joke back in the '50's. She was a true "housewife" and kept her house tickety boo at all times. She ironed bedsheets and set the table for breakfast at night before she went to sleep.

In the 1970's my mom had her own two children at a young age. I was the second, born when she was just twenty. Pregnancy had been easy and birth was quick (she barely made it to the hospital) and uncomplicated. Motherhood was very natural for her...and now "grandmahood" seems to come just as easily. She entered the workforce after being home with us for ten years. I remember the night when Mom and Dad brought home take-out for dinner and gave us a talk about becoming more responsible around the house because Mom wasn't going to be home to pick up after us anymore.

My own daughter was born in a hospital with my husband and my doula's support, as well as the labour nurses. The doctor was just the on call "baby-catcher" and that is really all that he did (in my estimation). My first child's birth was textbook but it still wasn't easy. With each pain I was wondering - is this as bad as it gets or has it only just begun? Has the pain peaked or will it get much, much worse? Actually, the naivete of a first time mother was a glorious blessing. A luxury, really. I didn't know what I was in for. I had no choice but to labour through the pain and the wonder. It was such a unique type of pain. Pain where you know that something good is about to happen. It is pain that may hurt but it is productive because with each contraction you are a step closer to holding your baby.

And then the moment comes...and whether you are in a back bedroom on the prairies or in an urban hospital that moment is universal in its life-changing impact. The one where you reach out and hold your baby for the first time. Relief. Pride. Astonishment. I was stunned in that moment when I first saw my firstborn. The moment was just too big. I couldn't comprehend the fact that this little being was mine to hold and to grow. I've spent the last four years trying to figure out the best way to do exactly that.

Life for me is so different than life for my great grandmother would have been. As a woman, a wife, and a mother I have so much choice. Autonomy. Opportunity. Voice. But I still want more and I have nothing but hope for the next generation.
Happy 100th International Women's Day!


"A Mother who radiates self-love and self-acceptance actually vaccinates her daughter against low self-esteem. "
— Naomi Wolf