Periods

By Mary

Outside, in the yard, you could hear the moaning coming from the house. “My life is over. I am ruined. I am now I a woman. Nothing is going to be the same for the next 50 years. How could this happen to me? I can’t believe I got my period. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m going to be in pain for years. I can have babies now. I don’t want this.” Everyone that walked into the house was greeted by the same scene at the kitchen table. Theresa crying and wailing that her life was over now that she got her period. It didn’t matter who walked through the door the neighbor guy, my boyfriend.

I thought it was funny, hilarious that she was telling everyone but at the same time I was mortified that she would share this with anyone.

I got my period when I was 14. I was so embarrassed. I didn’t tell anyone. I cut up rags and used them as pads. I didn’t tell my mom till 3 days in. I made her promise not to tell dad. I couldn’t imagine if he were to find out. I hide in my room after I told her I was so embarrassed. She didn’t ask if I needed pads, and I didn’t ask her for any.

The wails continued, “Shoes? I don’t care if I get shoes. I don’t want my period.” Shoes, what were these shoes? Bridget informed me yes, shoes. Everyone gets shoes when they get their period. Who was this everyone? Everyone? Everywhere? Everyone in this family? Where were my shoes? My mom said, “Oh, you didn’t get shoes?” Nooo… was that my penance for not lamenting at the kitchen table about my period?

“The worse is when you see a guy, especially the guy you like, then your period comes gushing out,” Molly informed her. Fine I thought, believe Molly, you get shoes.

Rebirthing Timmy

By Molly

I always love telling people that I was born at home. I think it makes me unique and special. My sister Mary has a baby; he is a year and a half. His name is North. Mary planned a beautiful home birth. She rented a birthing tub; she had towels and blankets from mothers who had previously given birth at home. She even had two midwifes. Mary ended up having a hard labor that lasted 3 days and ended in the hospital with a c-section. North has a scar on his head from being pressed into her pelvic bone for 3 days. Whenever I hold him, I always wonder if his birth will affect him in other ways than just the scar. Then, I think of my brother Timmy and all the births he had to go through, and I stop worrying about north.

Timmy was a home birth too. I was ten at the time and not allowed to be present for the birth. I had to stay at my grandma’s house that night and I remember arguing with her trying to get her to take me home. I remember telling her that I needed to be there to help. She just kept telling me to go to bed.

Timmy was born at 8:14 pm. The midwife caught him and placed him on my mom’s chest. My mom passed Timmy to my sister Mary. Timmy, only moments old, stopped breathing. The midwife took the baby from my sister and cleaned out his throat and mouth. After squeezing him and yelling “breathe, baby. Breathe”, Timmy started to breathe again.

I believe my mom was really shaken up by the whole event. For the next year of Timmy’s life my mom tried to do everything she could to make him forget that night. Her way of doing this was rebirth. Rebirthing was my aunt’s idea. The first time my mom rebirthed Timmy was when my aunt, who at the time taught new mother classes, came to meet the new baby. My mom lied down on the couch and put two week old Timmy up her dress. My aunt crouched down to ‘catch’ him. My mom in her most sweet singsong voice said, “He is coming, the baby is coming.” She then pulled Timmy out from under her dress and handed him to my aunt. My aunt looked at him and said, “Look, baby, you are okay, you can breathe.” My mom latched on to this idea of rebirth and took it to another level.

She proceeded to rebirth Timmy every morning after she finished her Body Electric. After the first rebirth, she decided to make it more realistic. My little sister Theresa, who was 8 at the time, and I would play the midwives. My mom moved from just up the dress to under really dark blankets, and then to being pressed between two pillows. Every time, us ‘midwives’ would have to take the baby and say,“Look, baby, you are okay. You can breathe.” At first, I was really excited about the rebirths because I had missed the real one. I even started to forgive my grandma. It was probably after the 30th or so rebirth that I got a little sick of the whole thing. I kept trying to figure out if Timmy really needed all this. He seemed perfectly fine to me.

My mom kept trying to remove the traumatic memory of not being able to breathe from his mind. The key part was to get him to breath again, and after he was squished between two the pillows, and pulled out, he coud breathe just fine. The traumatic part of North’s birth was not being able to come out. To rebirth him I suppose we could push him down a playground slide and say, “Look, baby, your head didn’t get stuck!” I will mention it the next time I go to a playground with Mary and North.