I Put What, Where?

The second and final Maori birthing class finally came. The only snag was my midwife called up the night before and said since my initial gestational diabetes test showed my sugar levels as "slightly elevated" so I was going to have to go into the mini-hospital and take the more advanced (read: annoying/disgusting) test the next day before my class began.

So, I fasted the night before, and the next morning we drove to the hospital where they immediately took my blood. (Beau left to attend the beginning of the class without me).

Then she plopped down the infamous bottle. The first time I did this test it was a small bottle of clear liquid that tasted like flat Sprite. Not pleasant, but no big tragedy. This time the bottle was twice as big, the liquid was green, thick, and tasted like I was sucking straight Sprite syrup, with no dilution. GAG! Oh, and it was room temperature, just to add to its utter deliciousness. Every couple minutes the phlebotomist would look at me and chirp, "Almost done?" and I'd croak, "Almost," with my eyes watering and my jedi mind tricks focusing on not puking it back up.

But, I got it down, and she announced that soon I would be feeling very sleepy from the hyper-injection of sugar into my body (couldn't they have given me some old-fashioned Lick-Em/Dip-Em Sticks instead?). She very kindly showed me to a private waiting room where I read for awhile, and then finally laid down, where I proceeded to fade in and out of unconsciousness. After a couple hours, she came back in and woke me up. I jumped up like a ninja for battle, stunned by the unfamiliar setting, then apologized and quickly put my shoes on and followed her, surreptitiously wiping my cheek and hoping she didn't see the sizeable drool patch left on the pillow.

She took my blood again, from the SAME spot, and actually did quite a good job. Usually, I end up a bit bruised when blood's taken, but there was just a small red dot. She then thanked and excused me, suggesting I go eat right away. Luckily, I was prepared and reached into my purse for my homemade trail mix which has been quite the blessing for me in these easily-head-swimming pregnant days.

I casually walked to where the class was a few blocks away, and was surprised when the red school van where Beau (and lately I) work pulled up, the door slid open, and like a clown car, a dozen or so of "our" high school students jumped out. They crowded around me in curiosity and concern, which I found quite touching. I talked with them briefly before leaving them and going on to class.

I pulled open the sliding glass door and slipped inside. The first thing I saw was Beau sitting on the ground, in a large circle with the others, pounding the life out of a giant block of grey clay. I was greeted by the midwife and others and I sat down next to him.

"We're making our whenua pot," he said. (Note: "whenua" is the placenta/afterbirth).

"Oh." I said.

The muka (flax twine to tie around the baby's umbilical cord) is something I thought was pretty cool, but I've always had a big "Eh" in my mind about the whole "Keeping and burying the placenta" thing. Yes, it's a nice idea to plant a tree in your baby's honor and plant the placenta below it and watch the tree grow every year. But shit, I'm also a Western city girl, and well, it's also kind of ick. Okay, really ick. Especially since I now know the placenta that comes out after the baby is about the SIZE of the baby. I always thought it was just some liquidy mess that drained out afterwards, not that it was actually this big, bloody bubble of goo. So, yeah, a little grossed out, but trying NOT to be.

Beau leaned over again, "She showed one of those birthing videos - you missed it."

"Oh," I said, not too broken up over that. Those birthing things make me want to start sobbing. Seriously.

"But it was one in water, so it wasn't so bad," he said.

I looked around and saw the room was filled with a few of the teenage girls from last time, and one new one. We were still the grandparents in the room. Everyone else was hard at work making what looked like various versions of clay log cabins, with log-like layers piling up. Beau had so far not done much but beat the clay into submission. We quickly decided to make it the shape of a giant heart and in no time he had the base smacked out. He nudged me to start building up the log-like walls, while he proceded to concentrate heavily on making a small pot of his own to store the umbilical cord in. It took awhile, but I finally built up the walls quite high, as he lovingly attended his...creation. At one point the midwife looked over and exclaimed to him, "It looks like one of those statues on Easter Island!"

She was right, it was just a head and looked very similar to those Rapanui heads.

"Is that a girl or a boy?" I whispered to him. "A girl!" he said indignantly. "Okay," I said, "You might want to give her some hair...or a much smaller nose." We all finished our teetering whenua homes and put them aside to dry.

We had our "tea" (not as long as before, Spongie, but still too long for this American *wink*) and then the class continued on with various tips and things to expect, which I liked, since I can't get enough of that part, but the warm room and a bad night's sleep had Beau fighting to stay awake. I had to keep one foot pushed up against the back of his thigh so that every time I heard him going under, I could give him a gentle, but insistent nudge. Once, he let out a subtle, crackling snore, and I gave him the most loving jab I could. He awoke wide-eyed, peering left and right. Not sure if anyone else noticed, at least they pretended not to.

The class ended and the midwife let me borrow the DVD so I could watch the water birth I had missed. I tried to dissuade her, but she seemed insistent.

*gulp*

P.S. We were told by a (Maori) woman today that for her children, they had put the placenta in a plastic bag in the freezer to await when all the relatives could come and then they would bury it in the cemetary with other ancestors. Cool, but again.. *squirm*