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Hynobirthing, A Curse For The Unprepared

Updated: May 27, 2023

Inhale... Exhale...

Those were the words I'd written to myself.

Scrawn on a sheet of paper,

decorated with multi-coloured stars and circles.

I stuck the paper on the wall and stared at it

as I counted each contraction.

Dancing in the kitchen while your father held my waist.

Climbing stairs in our building

and dropping into a squat at the top.

Twerking on the sofa with Missy Elliott

playing in the background.

All so I could see you sooner.

But it seemed the joke was on me.

Why wouldn't it be?

After a second time sent home from hospital

I was ready to pull you out myself.


Inhale... Exhale...

The pain got stronger.

A shift in my body said I should call again.


"Well," said the midwife, "do you want to come in?"

"Either that or I birth my child on the bathroom floor," I rolled my eyes.


Inhale... Exhale...

My waters broke in the back of the car.

I felt your head descend,

my body break open.

That infamous ring of fire that we so often hear about.

Your father equated it to a scene from ER

as the midwives rushed to the entrance of the centre.


"Give me the fucking drugs!" he remembers me saying.


Inhale... Exhale...

I was still mounted on the wheelchair

when she pulled down my trousers.

Just one more exhale,

and there you were in my knickers.


Inhale... Exhale...

Bloody hypnobirthing.


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