When I welcomed my daughter into the world a year ago, my partner eagerly shared the news: “She weighed this much, measured that long, and yes, ‘mom and baby are doing fine.’” This commonly used phrase, which I had encountered countless times before, suddenly struck me as utterly absurd.
“Fine?” I thought. We were far from fine.
The reality was stark. The epidural failed to provide relief, my partner was awkwardly adjusting the IV in my hand, and the nurse was clearly inexperienced. After the delivery, I felt every single stitch. Now this precious little girl was out in the world, clearly unsettled, and I couldn’t blame her. Our first pictures depicted two bewildered individuals, neither of us looking remotely “fine.”
As I lay in bed, listening to my baby cry while being unable to comfort her, I felt a surge of anger. Surely we weren’t the first mother and baby duo to be inaccurately labeled as “fine.” How many women were also deemed “fine” when they needed something more—rest, physical therapy, or even access to food after hours at the hospital cafeteria? I suspected many. And I couldn’t help but question if this so-called “baby-friendly” hospital was genuinely meeting the needs of my daughter, who was tucked away in a plastic bassinet, with two overwhelmed parents trying to figure everything out. She wouldn’t have agreed to the “fine” label either.
It infuriated me that two individuals who had just endured such an intense experience could be casually described as “fine.” This notion echoed the troubling reality I had faced throughout my pregnancy. Unless you experienced a catastrophic event, you were “fine.” Dismiss the pain, push aside the fears, adhere to all the guidelines, monitor your weight, and carry on. And heaven forbid you express anything less than joy during those 40 weeks, because others longed for the same experience but couldn’t have it. Just smile and let anyone who approached you touch your belly.
Reflecting on my journey, I felt fortunate to have made it through what was deemed a “fine” pregnancy. Despite the discomfort and feelings of vulnerability, I convinced myself that the stress was behind us. The birthing experience was unpleasant, but that was also over. Yet, after everything, we were not fine—perhaps we would never be fine again. No, we were extraordinary. That beautiful little girl? She was the most stunning baby in existence. And I was the one who brought her into this world.
Would you call someone finishing an Ironman “fine”? No, she is remarkable. Were the gladiators who survived the arena merely “fine”? No, they were heroes. Did anyone refer to Michelangelo’s work as “fine” after he completed the Sistine Chapel? Certainly not; he was a master artist. Perhaps Joseph did say that Mary and Jesus were “fine,” but that is a different story.
My newborn daughter and I were on top of the world, even if we couldn’t walk or effectively communicate our needs. Despite the uncertainty of what lay ahead, we were thriving. We understood a few fundamental truths: we were loved, we were alive, and we had each other.
“Mom and baby aren’t ‘fine.’” Let’s stop using that phrase. More importantly, let’s stop accepting it as true. It has never been accurate for anyone. Mother and child are miraculous; they are warriors. They have triumphed through childbirth and are now ready to face life’s challenges together. They can conquer anything—once mom can finally get out of bed on her own.
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In summary, the notion that mothers and their newborns are “fine” post-delivery is a misleading simplification of a complex experience. The journey of motherhood is one of resilience and profound change, far beyond the mundane description of being “fine.” It’s essential to acknowledge the challenges and the victories that come with bringing new life into the world.