Mmmm... the deliciousness of it. (Birth, not tortellini - or at least not so much tortellini...)

So, I promised I would explain the blog title. It really is multifaceted, if you will. The first meaning of a "delicious delivery" is one that only a select group of readers might understand: the midwives, the mamas, maybe some of the fathers, an occasional doctor or two, the OB nurses. I began to feel the hunger for this particular taste when my first daughter was born, and have only realized in the past few months that I can satiate it as a nurse-midwife as well as when I am the birthing one.

The first time I felt the deliciousness of birth, I was 24. I had woken up with a leaking bag of waters at exactly 37 weeks pregnant, self-swabbed it with a nitrazine stick (the perk of being an OB nurse), and - thinking it was negative and not actually my BOW - went about my early labor "on the clock", recovering a newly postpartum mother. Only when I was promising to help her up to the shower did my water break for real. (For future reference, any time I think of the big, theatrical Niagara-Falls-style rupture of membranes occurrences, this is how I will refer to them - "for real") . A quick walk home to get my husband, a short recess while he showered - and while things intensified rapidly - and we were back at the hospital, back in business. Within two hours or so, I had a dose of Nubain, a lovely shower, and a gorgeous baby girl. I also had a new thirst for the feeling of the birth of the shoulders, the sudden transition from baby in utero to baby on my chest, and the simple decadence of shifting the warmth of her presence through my own body. I know there are those who can describe these feelings more beautifully than I can; I wonder if (if anyone is reading along) you have felt this primal hunger.

I felt this same intense fulfillment with the birth of my second. The gentle pushing and easing of her shoulders and body through the birth canal, the act of bringing my slippery babe up to my chest and gazing into those eyes... cannot be described, only felt.

As a nurse-midwife, it's incredible to be able to recreate that feeling and to be share it with those who are experiencing it. The precious gifts that midwifery allows: glimpses of swatches of wet scalp, peeking through a bulging perineum... chubby cheeks gracing the world for the first time... the grasp of slippery, plump upper arms to gently guide new life into the world. Then - the pinnacle - a sudden sleek, sweet heft, caught and swiftly passed to joyous parents. That is a truly delicious delivery.

~*~*~*~*~

The second meaning of "A Delicious Delivery" is less poignant, and truthfully - I feel almost silly explaining it after going through the first meaning. Suffice it to say, I like to order out (a lot) when I'm working, and one of my all-time faves is tortellini alfredo from a nearby Italian pizza/pasta place. Well, recently, I ordered the "usual" and all of a sudden (about halfway through my bowl) that my tortellini bore a strong resemblance to rather atrophic, pale and discharge-laden cervices... perhaps yeasty? The only thing that would have completed the mental picture was if my fork was a duck-bill speculum...

Anyway, suffice it to say - I was done eating at that point (luckily - I had tiramasu to make up for it...) and haven't really felt any urge for tortellini since.

(I'd say that one was not quite as delicious of a delivery...)