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I caught my own placenta

March 16, 2017

 

I like a midwife to catch my babies.  She knows just how to bring a new being into the world, while holding my world together just enough.  I like my husband to keep his hands on me, providing grounding support as pure new life emerges from the softest, strongest, hidden parts of my body.

 

But I caught my own placenta!  It fell into my hands.  I placed it in the silver bowl: blue, rich, intact.  Not a drop of blood was left behind on my hands.  

 

We, my midwife and I, had been waiting for the placenta to come.  Contractions relaxed in the afterbirth time, and I wasn't bleeding much so there was no rush or pressure to birth my placenta quickly.  But I was uncomfortable and ready to snuggle up with my fresh born babe and needed to release my placenta before I could move on.  It had been an hour and I'd moved around, coughed, and then tried to pee.  Nothing would come out and there was talk of a catheter.  Then I stood up and out she fell, right into my hands, no effort necessary.  

 

It felt warm and slimy and solid.  I looked at the shiny purply mass with awe, washed in gratitude for the months of vomiting and fatigue because it all ended in a gloriously healthy baby with a gloriously healthy placenta.   I gave thanks to my placenta, my baby's life support.  And gave thanks for my ready hands.  

 

 

 

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