Joy and sorrow
Except for my mother who doubles over in remembered pain if childbirth is mentioned, most women I've met say they do not remember the pain, only the joy (baby is finally here), the relief (I will see my feet again soon), the nervousness (ohmygodIamresponsibleforalittlehumanohmygodhessolittle!)
As for me, childbirth started months before his actual arrival.
I started having contractions in my 22nd week. I thought they were the Braxton Hicks contractions I'd read about but I mentioned them to my doctor anyway. Keep a record of them and let me know...
Week 23, sitting in class (I was finishing the coursework for my doctorate), I timed them every two minutes. I called the doctor when I got home (I was not concerned, deluded as I was). She invited me to the hospital so she could have a looksee. The hospital, not her office. It still did not click in my head. I walked the mile to the hospital whereupon they immediately hooked me up to machines.
Not Braxton Hicks.
Week 24, dilated two centimeters- into the bed I went.
Week 39 she let me out of bed.
I went to the library and finished a paper (my classmates had been delivering notes and assignments to me weekly. My Latin instructor was kind enough to teach me in my home.) A former student yelled at me in the middle of the library that I should not be there because I was going to have the baby any minute.
Later, I wondered if it was a premonition, but in the moment, I laughed and stayed until I finished, just around midnight.
At 5:30 am my water broke. I just thought I had to pee a lot. My husband figured it out (apparently it had a distinct odor.) He called the doctor and my mom. Once the doctor called us back (it took a while - wrong number on file!), he called a cab.
They put us in a big, chilly room with a bed and a bathroom and hooked me up to a baby heart monitoring machine that my husband watched while holding my hand and looking sickly in a chair by the bed.
By the time I thought I might change my mind about a natural birth and go for an epidural, I had already dilated past the point that it would have been allowed. So, instead, I continued singing operatic high notes (rather than screaming - I suspect it was kind of funny and not as melodious as I imagined.)
After checking on me briefly, the doctor left to go across the street to her office. A nurse told me I had better get hold of myself because I was going to be there for a while (I guess she did not like my singing). But then the midwife intern had a look...and said oh. After which she calmly called the doctor's office and said, as soon as she gets there, please tell her to come back to the hospital. I can see the head.
At 10:53 am, my son surprised everyone by showing up rather quickly (it did not feel quick to me, but I have friends who had days-long labor so I know I can't complain). They immediately laid him upon my chest. He was rather blue and a little quiet at first such that I worried, but then he began to whimper. (Six months later, the midwife called and asked if I had any questions about the birth. I asked if the cord had been around his neck. She was quiet, then asked how did I know or what made me ask. I said she and the doctor had looked at each other in the moments he was making his way into the world. A look of concern, but then he was there and the moment slipped by. Well, yes it was, she said.)
The most beautiful moment was when my husband began to say all the sweet words he used to say to my belly and our son quieted and tried to focus on the place from whence the sound came. He already knew his baba.
The joyful moment was speared by heartache when the doctor decided it was the opportune moment to tell me that my dad had died two days before but my mom and husband didn't want to perhaps induce labor by telling me.
So, the memory of my child's birth is colored by the joy of his arrival, a healthy boy, and the sorrow of the loss of my dad, both of which outweigh any of the physical pain of actually giving birth. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times....