March 2002 Vol 29,1

Sheila Kitzinger's Letter from Europe

What Do We Tell the Children?

My grandson, Josh, age five, came home from school with a worksheet about what babies can do at different ages. At birth they can suck. And there was a drawing of a newborn sucking – on a bottle. This was advance advertising of artificial baby milk to parents of the future. Baby Hospital, a TV documentary screened nationally in the U.K. in the early evening, filmed a birth. The mother had an epidural, and since she was covered by drapes it was impossible to tell from where the baby was emerging. It could have been her umbilicus, or possibly her big toe. The midwife who took over from another when the shift changed, praised her for being an "ideal patient - she was so calm". Calm wasn’t in it. Mildly disgruntled and irritated by what she was expected to do, she might have been putting on a tight shoe or pulling weeds. The baby was born, wrapped, and plonked on her chest. She gave it a cursory glance, but did not touch it, and continued to talk and look around the room. Because she was reclining, it would have been difficult for her to gaze into the baby’s eyes. It was the father who, when handed the baby, looked down at her face and greeted her, and then the older sibling, who walked in at that point. This was birth without striving, without passion, without joy. It was an insidious way of teaching children that it entails some obscure tricky work in the lower part of a woman’s body, that it does not hurt, and other people do it for her.

A BBC computer CD often used in schools is completely unsuitable for primary age children.¹ The language is medicalised, and the games that involve racing of sperm to ovum are geared to adolescent boys. Birth is summed up, as uterine activity that "painfully forces the cervix open".

So when I consulted the Department of Education I was not surprised that a spokesperson told me that children aged 5 –10 are not learning about emotions or relationships. They are taught biology. This tends to be delayed until the last year of primary school, since teachers rarely feel comfortable with it. There is a plethora of illustrations of cross-sections of body organs – the "slice’em up and explain what and where" approach to sex education. When interviewed, children say it is about "contraception, contraception, contraception".

They learn about birth from TV soaps and hospital sitcoms in which it is depicted as an emergency, with overtones of impending catastrophe, and final salvation by the obstetrician. They learn that birth means fear, a frantic rush to hospital, and life-saving surgery. We condition children to think of birth as like a road accident or a heart attack. This may be why many first-time mothers want to make sure that they can have an epidural as soon as they step through the hospital doors or opt for an elective cesarean.

It wasn’t always like that. In the Middle Ages Florentine and Sienese paintings of the birth of St Mary and St John sometimes showed children present, either playing, or helping the god-sibs, the female friends who attended the birth to care for the mother and baby. German woodcuts of the sixteenth century show children at birth, too. ²

But it had all changed by the nineteenth century. Victorians, or at least, members of the middle class, told children that the doctor brought the baby in his little black bag, or that it was plucked from under a gooseberry bush. Many girls grew up ignorant about where babies came from and how they got out. Death, in contrast, was considered highly suitable for children, and morally uplifting. They joined the mourning circle round the death bed, viewed the body, and made mourning cards. Isolating them from knowledge about birth, however, and from the sexual implications of reproduction, was a symbol of higher social status. While the poor lived in crowded hovels where birth was highly visible, those who had more money could shroud it in secrecy.

Yet in the twentieth century, before most births in Britain took place in hospital following the second World War, many children were around when a baby was born. They might be sent off to Granny when delivery was imminent, or she came to care for them in their own home. Some happened to be present at the birth and climbed on the bed to hold the new baby when only a few minutes old. They did not get any formal education, but birth was seen as a normal part of life. When birth was moved to the hospital, it was no longer an experience for the whole family. It has usually remained that way.

Even when there is an opportunity to have children present, women sometimes tell me, "I wouldn’t want the children there. I’d hate them to see me in pain", and "it’s way beyond what a 3 year old can cope with emotionally. It might traumatise her for life." Midwives may feel this way, too. Yet one midwife described with delight how when she was assisting at a birth, as the head was born the three year old jumped up on the bed, a gift-wrapped box in his hand, saying excitedly, "Hello baby! Here’s your birthday present!"

I wrote about this topic in a newspaper parenting column, asked mothers to let me know children’s reactions to being present at birth, and solicited drawings and tape-recorded or written accounts from their children. The result was 52 accounts from mothers and 35 drawings and accounts from young children.

Typical accounts from mothers are:
"They came into the bedroom, cuddled me and asked me if they could watch a video in Tim’s room while they waited. Off they went and they continued to pop back in and out. My husband fetched them as Daniel was about to emerge. The midwife asked Tim (7) if he wanted to hold the baby. He refused, saying he would wait till he had had a bath. As the midwife cleaned and checked Daniel over she asked the children to help by counting his fingers and toes. This made them feel important. The children sat next to me on the bed and Tim sang Happy Birthday to him. No-one had told him to do this. Jessica (5) held him and talked to him as if he could understand her…The bond between them was instantaneous. They are both brilliant with Daniel."
Jason was three, and his mother wrote, "He rubbed my back during contractions. After Molly was born he knelt down beside me and hugged me and said, "You got the baby out very well, Mummy." Harry was two and "When Beth came out he was yelling bubby, bubby!" He then helped cut the cord. He was more than observer, as he helped by spraying me with water. He felt part of it. I wasn’t sure how much of it he would remember, yet (eight months later) he still speaks about it. I feel that having him there helped him accept his sister. I haven’t had the usual jealousy problems and he is very protective of Beth."

Three children said they didn’t like some things about the birth (particularly blood), but were glad that they had been there. For the rest it was a positive experience. Anna now 13, wrote that when she was six, "I was lucky enough to see my younger sister Daisy being born. Her birth is one of my most vivid and exciting memories and I realise now that I was lucky being able to share that special day with my Mum, Dad and, of course, Daisy. During the seven years that I have been her older sister we have shared a bond which has grown from me being at the birth. I am like a second mother to her."

Ashley, (8), wrote, "Kate woke us up and took us to the hospital. It was very boring when Mummy was roaring and carrying on. After a little while I saw Hope’s head. She had a lot of hair. When she came out she had a Martian head. (The baby was persistent posterior, with sugar-loaf moulding.) She was a bit goopey but I loved her anyway."

Sarah, now 14, said about David’s birth 18 months ago, "I had to bring flannels because Mum was always too hot or too cold, to put them on her forehead and damp her wrists… When he came out he was all covered in blood. I expected him to be clean like in the films.... We were the first people he saw. It’s a nice experience. I think children should be there."

These children are fortunate. It is not just that they have acquired accurate information. Rather than simply learning the mechanics of birth, they have shared in the excitement of labor, witnessed the spectacular power of women’s bodies, and realise how the birth of a baby affects emotions and relationships in the family. They grow in understanding of themselves and others.

References