Technicolor Birth Memories

I have just started reading Ina May's Guide to Childbirth. The first 1/3 of the book consists of birth stories, mostly from women associated with or at The Farm in Tennessee. The stories are varied, representing women from differing backgrounds but most are extremely positive and uplifting, beautiful.

Birth stories often have a play-by-play quality (first this happened, and then this, and then I said this and then...) as mothers recount every little detail. Other times, they are too short, only giving a general account of what happened. Despite this, I always love to read them.

As I read Ina May's Guide I was struck by some of the women's vivid memories of very small details of the day their children were born:

I looked at the clear blue November sky and the brown oak leaves and basked in the warmth of the sun.

~ James's Birth

I remember the way the wind blew up the stairwell as I walked down with my beautiful son. Then the thunder and lightning began, and it started to pour rain, making everything cool and comfortable.

~ Otis Francisco's Birth

It was quite comforting to curl up next to my man, listening to the sound of the woodstove crackling.

~ Mulci's Birth

These tiny details, usually just a sentence here or there are what brought the stories to life for me. Some of the women talk about how the world was more vivid and clear, crisper than it had ever been before. I had never thought about it in quite that way before but as I remember my children's births, I realise that this is exactly true. The world, or at least certain parts of it, were in sharp focus. I have very vivid memories of a few small moments, sensations that will be with me all my life.

The day my son was born I remember the look of the lake, still and calm, reflecting the Indian Summer sunrise with the promise of a little more warmth before winter.

The day my daughter was born - I remember the rattle and hum of yet another load of towels and sheets in the dryer mingling with the shouts of children floating in the open window. I remember the early evening midsummer light, sun still high at 8:00 pm. I remember baby potatoes with dill from the garden.

I wonder about your experiences. What tiny detail is etched in your consciousness? If everyone shared their one bright moment, what kind of variation will we see? Will there be a difference between home birthers and hospital birthers?

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