The Things They (Don’t) Tell You

My baby girl is sixteen today and in honour of her grand entrance to the world, I thought I'd post the poem I wrote (and had published in the anthology 'Diapers and Dimples) all about Labour Day!


Oh it was a breeze (a force ten or more)
The Midwife and the staff were so kind.
The Doctor? Well, he was a little aloof,
(but then I was sick all over him, mind).

Painful contractions? No I wouldn’t say that
(if you’re used to corsets of barbed wire).
Oh, the TENS machine, gas-n-air, you know the thing…
(But only Epidurals put out my fire).

How long was the labour? Not really that long
(if you think twenty three hours is short).
Yes, I remembered the breathing, the sighing-out-slow
(but I practised not what I was taught).

Did she suck at the breast as soon as she could?
But of course, and we bonded superbly!
Her father and I had tears filling our eyes
(FFS, hurry up with some tea!)

An episiotomy? Ach, it was only a snip!
Not half as bad as everyone makes out.
(Make it ten times as bad; it felt like a donkey
had given my rear end a good clout).

Oh yes, it’s a wonderful, memorable event,
And Alice is worth all that pain.
A brother? Oh, it’s too soon to think of just yet
(if the truth be told – never again!).

(1993)