It is my belief that it's the privilege of every new mother to tell the
story of her labour in as much gory detail as she wishes, and for her audience
to listen politely, if not appreciatively. This was not my understanding before
I had children myself, but since giving birth I have reached the kind of
'members only' realisation that gives a convenient licence to hold forth.
I have a good old friend whose first birth story came several years before
my own, and I remember being simultaneously horrified, regaled and skeptical
when she told me in dramatic detail of the birth of her first daughter. She
told me how she had done the cleverest thing - producing this perfect infant,
and how the arrival of the first grandchild had incited her mother to reveal how her own birth
(she is also the first born) had been the best thing that had ever happened to
her. And then, many months later, I remember this friend telling me how her
husband had suggested she find an alternative topic of conversation to dine out
on, that perhaps the birth-story was wearing a little thin for family and
friends alike. I laughed with her at the time, part of me realising how 'big'
this thing must be, the labour of giving birth, while hoping to bear the pain,
indignity and wonder of this transformational experience myself some day.
