Story 1
A month before the baby was born, my husband went to Mr. Braithwaite, the village carpenter. He asked him to build a small wooden coffin, and to bring to the house as soon as it was done.
“Leh dah be an incentive,” he told me the day Mr. Braithwaite came over. For two weeks I had to look at that tiny pine box, which layed in the corner of our bedroom. The day I went into labor, I was fully motivated to produce the perfect baby boy for my husband.
The delivery of that baby went down as the worst pain of my life. It felt as if the devil himself was tearing me inside out. I felt faint more times than I can count. The pain would come, subside, then come again, more furocious than before.
This must be what death feels like I thought to myself, when I actually had time to think. As I began to push, I felt my derriere flex. I was so sure, I was going to defecate all over myself. Aside from the fear of an unwanted bowel movement, the outer part of my privacy began to burn immensely. I’d felt this burning sensation before, but this time, it felt like my vagina had been engulfed in flames. Women always said deliveries got easier for them, the more children they had, but that must’ve been a lie.
By the time the baby was fully out, I had no energy to even raise my head. The pain of it all had my left in a daze. I just wanted to sleep. I didn’t even care to look at the child. I called out to Dear Aunt, as she wrapped the newborn.
“Is he alive?” I asked. Dear Aunt giggled, and responded with words that I regret hearing to this day.
“Alive, yes,” she said gayly, “but it’s not a boy. It’s a girl!”
The day I went into labor, I was fully motivated to produce the perfect baby boy for my husband.
The delivery of that baby went down as the worst pain of my life. It felt as if the devil himself was tearing me inside out. I felt faint more times than I can count. The pain would come, subside, then come again, more furocious than before.
This must be what death feels like I thought to myself, when I actually had time to think. As I began to push, I felt my derriere flex. I was so sure, I was going to defecate all over myself. Aside from the fear of an unwanted bowel movement, the outer part of my privacy began to burn immensely. I’d felt this burning sensation before, but this time, it felt like my vagina had been engulfed in flames. Women always said deliveries got easier for them, the more children they had, but that must’ve been a lie.
By the time the baby was fully out, I had no energy to even raise my head. The pain of it all had my left in a daze. I just wanted to sleep. I didn’t even care to look at the child. I called out to Dear Aunt, as she wrapped the newborn.
“Is he alive?” I asked. Dear Aunt giggled, and responded with words that I regret hearing to this day.
“Alive, yes,” she said gayly, “but it’s not a boy. It’s a girl!”
