I cannot believe you follow the birth of a child.
It's the miracle of life, a baby is born!
And then you too must pass, from uterus torn.
It's such a wondrous event, as child enters the world,
Mothers weep, fathers cheer! for their new boy or girl.
Yet when baby breathes its first breath in the hospital ward,
It is still not rid of you, attached firmly by cord.
I stand in front of mother, offering a hand of support,
I checked in every 2 hours, building a strong rapport.
Then when the time came, I put on my gown and my glove,
A mask on my face to protect from splashes of love.
Push! we yell to mom as the contractions come quicker,
Push! Push! through the crowning, the head's getting bigger!
I put an arm underneath, and secure the nape of his neck,
While dad passes out and mom's screaming like heck.
Oh my God! It's a boy! Congrats all around!
The baby is out of his sac and on solid ground.
The family rejoices, they've waited 9 months for a son,
But while they cheer on, I am nowhere near done.
Even after the baby is out, and the cord has been cut,
I stand between her legs, til the placenta's unstuck.
I tug and I tug, gently pull and then twist,
Throw it all in a bucket, unless membranes persist.
And as you lie there amorphous in a bucket of steel,
A little sick to my stomach is how you make me feel.
An organ of tissue, all gooey and gross,
All grimy and oozy, all slippery and morose.
In some cultures you're eaten, in others you're buried,
For me it's bad enough that in my hands you are carried.
I'm usually not squeamish, but I loathe you and your stroma,
I think the only thing worser is the mature teratoma (yuck!).
So Placenta, Oh Placenta! You're so gross that just maybe,
Next time I'll quickly unscrub, status post birth of the baby...
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