Published on August 21st, 2013 | by Mutha Magazine1
ASK A MUTHA: Freaky!
MUTHA Magazine asked mothers what was the freakiest part of being pregnant.
Pregnancy is an extraordinarily bizarre body-state, so it’s hard to choose just one thing that was particularly freaky – the whole thing is a side show. A few things do stand out: for one, my pussy tasted different to my husband, but thankfully not enough to put the kibosh on cunnilingus.
On the sweet side, my daughter, extrovert extraordinaire, smiled and waved at us in the ultrasound. It looked a little like the man from Edvard Munch’s “The Scream”, only her mouth was turned up and there was a little hand waving, “Hi parents! I know you’re out there somewhere!” – Rhea St. Julien
The freakiest thing about being pregnant was not holding my stomach in for nearly the first time in my life. The second freakiest thing was having a person living inside me. – Malaina Poore
LABOR. I had a dreamy pregnancy (felt better than I ever had in my life, for 9 months) that ended in a 34-hour labor experience that humbled me like nothing else. I don’t think the danger of being in labor is discussed candidly enough. Anything can happen, the duration is unknown and that was by far the most “freaky” (terrifying) thing for me. That part where they say you ‘forget’? That has not happened. But everything both before and since those 34 hours has been freaky in the BEST possible sense of the word. – Emma Tramposch
I started having contact with my grandmother’s ghost. At the end of September, when I was about three months pregnant, for my birthday, I went to stay in my mother’s house while she was out of town. My dear friend, Magnolia and her younger daughter came to spend the weekend. They brought me gluten-free blackberry muffins they had baked, still in the muffin pan, with Magnolia’s blackberry stained apron wrapped around them. They had traveled on the bus from a small sea town over an hour away. My friend walked down the dimly lit street, with her heavy cello case slung over her petite back, her daughter walking in small steps beside her.
That night, I slept alone on a mattress by a potbellied stove. I was awoken by someone’s hands gripping my hand tightly. The impression had lasted a few seconds. My heart was a drum. I was previously disturbed by a cat pouncing on me, but at this time there were no felines sleeping in the house. We were in the country, and the room was still very dark. I had to touch my wrists that had just been held tightly by someone else. I got up, poured myself a glass of goat milk, which had become my craving, and crawled back beneath the heavy blankets.
When my mother returned, I recounted the story to her. My mother believes in things like ghosts, because her own family had lived in a house with a child spirit when she lived on the coast of Port Angeles. She looked at me assuredly and said, “I think it was your grandmother, Gina.” She said that Gina, my father’s mother, had always taken people’s hands in her own tightly, when she wanted them to listen to her. It had been one of her traits when my mother knew her, when they lived in Los Angeles.
Later, during the birth of my daughter, my grandmother came again. Inside my cabin in the forest, below a sliver moon, someone had taken firm hold of my ankles. When I looked down to see who was holding me so tightly, no one was there. That night, my youngest sister, Gabriela looked at me and said, “I feel Gina here with us.”
After my daughter was born, my father showed me his baby book. His mother had written about her own pregnancy and the birth of her son in the Bronx. She wrote that she had birthed him alone. My grandfather had been out to sea. I imagine my grandmother didn’t want me to feel abandoned, because I didn’t have a partner with me. That in her own spirit way, she had been present and brought my family together to support me during my own five day labor. Her love reached me even beyond the spirit world, and my ability to feel her, to be aware of her presence was enhanced by my daughter’s spirit living within me. – Sarah Maria Medina