A Thought About Eve
Have you ever thought about Eve and that fateful bite she took that damned womankind to the struggles of child birth? How that singular act of disobedience brought about millennia of swollen ankles, heart burn, kicked ribs, stretch marks, weight gain, and tortured bladders, not to mention the life altering experience of labor and delivery. I have, and as I thought about it I also realized that the discipline of God that caused women to experience pregnancy, labor and delivery, also allows us to hold in our arms the greatest act of creativity our bodies will ever encounter, our children. The image of two; his eyes and smile, my hair and feet, our baby, nurtured and grown within my body then pushed out to be nurtured and grown by our hands. How loving is that? God’s divine way of correcting Eve and womankind is also our biggest blessing. Now that is love.
NIV Genesis 3:16
To the woman he said I will greatly increase your pains in childbearing; with pain you will give birth to children.
My bulging belly is all I can see as I pull on my knees
my face red as blood, hair sweaty and matted to my head.
I Push, I scream, I hit my stinkin’ husband.
This is no time to comfort me.
Hey You, Man! Take away this pain!
It is your fault, the bulging belly, swollen ankles, and the contractions.
I can see everything now, with crystal clear vision.
You are saying kind words and rubbing my back.
Then your hand pats my arm … don’t pat me!
I’m not a pet or stuffed animal.
I’m sweaty, tired, and in pain.
Don’t touch me!
You say don’t Push. Darn you husband!
I will Push when I want … I want to Push Now!
I want the entire earth Pushed out of my body.
I want the pain of being women cast onto your body
for a week or a day; your body shaking and contracting with intense pain.
Then we would see who the weaker sex is!
Could a man, sweaty, tired, and in pain, control the profanity that
wants to spew out of me and land in a big wet blob on anyone
who says, PUSH or don’t PUSH.
My heart beats like a war drum, my sweaty
hands pull at the sheets; I Push to release the pain.
I Push like a weight lifter lifting 500 pounds. One more Push and
I see the shiny, smooth, dark, head crowning.
I pull on my knees, I breath and pant, I wait, and then
I look at my husband; he is smiling that goofy smile.
He watches as the head emerge from the depths of me
and into this world. We see our baby’s face, pink, gooey, beautiful.
I Push again, and again, and one more time.
The pain subsides and our baby is here.
My sweaty, tired body trembles with exhaustion and joy.
A silent tear of happiness slides down my husband’s cheek.
He embraces me and I him, he is exhausted too.
Now that the pain has diminished to a low throb like an ember burning in me,
I lay back and hold my baby to my breasts, he searches with open mouth
for sustenance. I examine the face, touching it softly.
I feel the tiny fingers curl around mine and then grip with
surprising strength. I want to hold onto my baby forever, smashing
the perfect, pink body into mine.
My husband is standing close with one protective arm still around me.
He reaches out and gently touched the top of our baby’s head;
contentment and joy shining deep in his eyes.
The room is full of happy chatter and well-wisher.
Grandparents, aunts, and uncles, all looking at the beautiful baby in my arms.
I think for a minute about my nasty thoughts and questionable words, then give my husband a shy smile.
Now, the pain seems like a small sacrifice for the beautiful baby in my arms.
A reflection of my husband and me.
This poem is an aggregate of birthing experiences. I based it on stories I have heard from friends and family along with my own birthing experiences. To you women who endure the birthing process without angry and hateful thoughts, or unreasonable demands, you have my sincere respect.
By Debora Shelford Hobbs