As my kid has navigated childhood and settled into adolescence I think I’m just about ready to deal with the PTSD of the birth and give an update.

My sole request in the Birthplan was (along with almost everything else in there) discarded. Literally.

Just as in the stories favoured by fervent churchgoers, as the miracle of emergent life concluded, the sopping offspring smearing her father’s chest, I was able to cast aside the crutches I had been dependent on and stroll into the bathroom and give way to the most satisfying pee of my life. During which the umbilical cord was disposed of along with the placenta in the main room by the midwife.

All that was left was the sealed stumpy bit still attached to the baby’s belly. It got smelly pretty quickly. Eventually it came off, we let it dry out properly and have kept it ever since in a purpose bought small wooden box in a pretty padded pouch. Beef jerky was indeed the apt description.

I don’t do well in situations where professionals lean into their gut feelings rather than take in and respond to what I am telling them.

(And the okuizome was beautiful and put my daughter’s oldest relative, her Spanish Great Grandmother, into centre stage. She managed the ceremonial feeding using ohashi like a pro. My yaya is no longer with us but we all remember and cherish the occasion.)