In the beginning, there was darkness.
Actually, it wasn’t that dark in there. People who study these things seem to believe that being in the womb was like sitting in a room with all the curtains closed and the lights turned off. But the bright sky outside meant there was still enough light to see.
Also, it was really comfortable in there, if you think about it.
We were safely contained without being smothered, swimming in warm water.
We grew in the whoosh whoosh of the amniotic fluid that surrounded us. And, when we had grown enough, we could hear our own heartbeat, connected with the steady heartbeat of our mother, which resonated through our bones and that warm water.
We loved rhythm.
We could hear more than our mother’s constant heartbeat. We could hear her walking, talking, and singing. The singing was especially good.
Over those 9 months, we learned the rhythm of the song our mother sang to us every morning. Or the theme song of a tv show she watched with her partner that made them laugh.
A particular poem. A fervent prayer.
We grew in rhythm. It’s all we knew.
Did you know that ultrasounds show that a fetus, after 20 weeks, begins to breathe in rhythm with the songs they hear?
Rhythm was everything.
We didn’t know anything else.
Hanging around there, we kicked. We danced. We slipped into sleep whenever we needed it.
And sometimes, as we grew bigger, we could feel hands touching, gently pressing, trying to hold our feet, our butts, our head. This laying on of hands felt especially good.
Sometimes we could sense shadows or flashes of light outside.
But we had no notion of outside. Yet.
We didn’t have judgment or criticism. Yet.
We didn’t think dark was bad and light was good. Instead, everything was a thing that happened. Sensations. Something to notice.
Loud sounds could startle us. Our heart rate rose in response.
But we didn’t yet think of that as fear. It was just a thing that happened.
We learn to balance ourselves before we are born.
A baby in utero tumbles around when their mother walks or dances or swims. We’re shimmying around in there, trying to find a solid steady again.
At 25 weeks, the vestibular system in the inner ear starts to fully form. That’s the system that helps us to adjust our positions to maintain balance when the terrain is uncertain.
We know how to find our footing before our feet ever hit the ground.
And food! Oh, food.
Food arrived without having to choose it. Or cook it. Or worry about calories.
Did you know that babies in utero can smell whatever the mother is smelling by her fourth month of pregnancy? Put a sizzling hot, crisp pork roast under the nose of the mama and that sleeping baby will roll awake and start dancing. I want some!
By the third trimester of pregnancy, a baby can “taste” sweet, salty, bitter, and sour? All from the flavors that came from what our mother ate and came to us through the umbilical cord.
Some scientists believe that our natural palate is set before we’re born, based on what our mother was eating as we were growing inside of her.
So much of what we need to feel good in the world grows in us before we are born into the world.
Why?
We grow in connection.
We would not exist without the connection of sperm and egg.
And we could not grow without having the symbiotic relationship with our mothers (and the partner who is actively involved, hopefully).
There is no baby without this 9-month connection.
We are human because we grow through connection.
And how we grow!
Somewhere between 24 and 28 weeks, the fetus begins producing surfactant. It’s a mixture of fat and proteins that are created in the lungs. As surfactant begins to coat the air sacs in the lungs where oxygen enters, those sacs stop sticking together when the fetus breathes out.
Without this surface material, our air sacs would collapse every time we let out a breath.
That matters, of course.
Around 35 to 37 weeks, there’s enough surfactant produced that we can breathe on our own, when we’re ready to emerge.
We are born when we are ready to breathe and use our voices.
Just in time, too.
It feels stifling in the womb now. We’re holding our legs over our heads to remain in place.
No room. It’s too small for us.
And so, the process begins.
Labor only begins when the baby is ready to live outside of that warm dark place. When we’re ready, one of the proteins in the surfactant begins to stimulate the immune cells inside the uterus (macrophages). Those macrophages move to the lining of the uterus. This sends a signal to the mother’s body to begin labor.
Let’s go!
Again, it’s the connection that helps us to grow.
We emerge, one way or another.
We are born.
And in our first few moments of being alive?
THIS SUCKS.
Bright lights. Cold air. All these faces?
What the hell is this breathing thing?
We scream before we take deep breaths.
We are born into immediate overwhelm.
Put me back in!
Here’s the understanding we have to cultivate, from the first moments of life until the last breath.
That place you grew in? There’s no going back. It’s too small for you now.
And if we didn’t endure the extraordinary overwhelm of being born, we could never live.
There’s nothing wrong with a challenge. It’s how we grow.
But when we’re overwhelmed, we need someone to comfort us. To wrap us up tightly, to make the whooshing sound of amniotic fluid in our ears, to hold us and sway.
We need someone to make us feel safe again. Connection.
When we hear the voices of our mother and partner, we calm down. It’s the connection with their voices, warm skin, and the song they sang to us every morning, in this new place, that calms us into a quiet mind.
We are here now.
Welcome to being human.
And of course, there’s more to this story.
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