I found out today that a dear friend who has been two weeks ahead of me in our pregnancies gave birth yesterday. At home, in a birthing tub, attended by three midwives and a doula, supported in the tub by her husband.
The photos show beatific mom and baby in the dim light. The email reports that soft orthodox chants were playing.
I am so happy for my friend. Well, at least after I’m done being jealous.
And it strikes me particularly now, that the joy is much more useful and nurturing, nutritious really, for all involved.
Jealousy corrodes.
Must get out of that habit.
Found link to the abstract:
http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2000/01/31/2000_01_31_040_TNY_LIBRY_000020104
Here’s the crucial comment:
Tells about a visit to the obstetrician, who dresses in black and appears to writer to be like a character in a David Mamet play about Hollywood producers…Writer describes the immodest examination… In New York, in other words, pregnancy is a medical condition that, after proper care by people in white coats and a brief hospital stay, can have a “positive outcome.” In Paris, it is something that has happened because of sex, which, with help and counsel, can end with your being set free to go out and have more sex. In New York, pregnancy is a ward in the House of medicine; in Paris, it is a chapter in a sentimental education…
Woops, the above was supposed to go with the restaurant/truffles post. Sorry.