Birth

Pain...

An immense pain grips my lower belly. Even though this is my second labor, it feels different. The pain is much more stabbing and the contractions are much... much longer. 

"Push... push, Thaléa!" the midwives exclaim, their voices echoing in the room. Exhaustion is written all over their faces, but they continue to encourage me, as if labor has just begun.

But every minute that passes, I feel weaker, as if my consciousness is moving farther and farther away from the place where it belongs.

I look down at my belly. What was once smooth and soft is now a rounded abdomen, marked by pregnancy. Further down, on the sheets covering the bed, there is a large puddle, witness to the blood flowing abundantly from my vagina.

I know that, if I go on like this, I won't see the light of a new dawn, neither me nor my baby. ["I have to be strong; I have to make it!"] I think. For even if I tried to say it, I doubt very much that I would be strong enough to expel a single word. 

With all the strength I have left in my exhausted body, I give the last push. "Fuuuu!" As all the midwives refocus their gazes on me, my insides contract, and I feel as if my vagina is being torn completely apart as the various parts of the child pass through my orifice.

Until I no longer feel anything...

As fleeting as it came, the pain dissipates. ["Finally..."] My thoughts turn to the anticipation of seeing my baby's face, seeing how big he was born, whether he has inherited my hair color or perhaps my eyes.

But as I regain consciousness. I witness a scene that fills me with dread: the child suspended in the air, his face almost lilac due to the lack of oxygen and the pressure exerted by the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. He is not crying, but emitting strange sounds, like those of a drowning person, as he opens his little mouth.

My heart fills with anguish, fear and helplessness. I ache that I cannot do anything for the little baby I have just delivered. Just as I am about to let my emotions flow and start shedding tears, the lead midwife deftly cuts the umbilical cord and proceeds to heal its tiny lungs and neck with holy magic. "Ho ho ho ho ho... what a strong child you have delivered, Thaléa!" she says with an ear-to-ear grin on her face. "These cases are rare, although I have dealt with a few in the past, but let me tell you, Thaléa, in none of those cases did the child survive!"

After these words, she whips the baby so hard on its little bottom that the sound echoes throughout the room, "Slaaapppppp!" I feel as if the blow was not received by the child, but by myself. The pain that only a mother can feel. ["Bitch, how can she hit a baby like that!"] My mind can only produce insults for that deranged midwife. But these thoughts cease when the baby's cry begins to be heard in the room.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"

The lead midwife approaches me, holding the baby in her arms. Although her cry is deafening and lacking in rhythm, it is also the most beautiful melody I have ever heard.

"Look, Thaléa, your baby...," she says as she places the child in my arms.

My heart starts beating and is filled with a feeling I already experienced at my first birth, when the twins were handed to me... absolute and profound happiness.

"Hello, little Elion ❤️."