[Diary of an Expat Bride] The birthing party

Safely in my purse was a yarım altın, a gold coin tied with a blue ribbon. In Turkey, people tend to give gifts of gold for weddings and births. The gold traditionally comes in three denominations: quarter, half and whole. We were bringing the half-gold, currently worth about TL 190. The couple can either save these coins, or trade them in for money.

When we got to the maternity ward, my nose was assailed with the scent of tons of flower arrangements, all placed in the hallway so as not to disturb the baby. The wing was also unbearably hot; sweat ran in rivulets down my back and I could feel my feet swell in my already too-tight shoes. Tuba lay flat and prone on the bed, she wasn’t allowed to sit up yet since she had had a cesarean. She looked groggy from the anesthesia. The room was overflowing with people, friends, relatives and acquaintances talking loudly. Tuba smiled occasionally, but I couldn’t imagine how. Her baby boy lay in a plastic container with wheels, and she could barely take her eyes off of him. People were crowded around the baby, pushing iPhones in his face, taking photos and, at least to me, being totally obnoxious. I quietly pinned the gold to a pillow near Tuba expressly for that purpose, and tried to blend into the wall. I felt horrified by what I saw, and my mouth went dry as I had an uncanny premonition that this same scenario would repeat itself at my birth.

I edged nearer to Tuba and asked her if she wanted to hold her baby.

“Yes, but after everyone has seen him first,” she said.

WHAT?!? I looked at Can and pleaded with my eyes to leave. For me, this was akin to watching a train wreck. I understood that people want to welcome the new baby to the community, but the complete takeover of what should have been the most important moment between a mother and her child sickened me. Before we could leave, Tuba’s mother came and offered me a cool, red, syrupy drink known as lohusa çay. Made from red-tinted cloves, ginger and sugar, it supposedly helps a new mother’s milk supply. All guests who visit a new baby will be offered some, as well as some chocolate. We were also given a magnet with a baby pram on it, as a memento. It felt like a party, more so when we were given our party favor before leaving.

On the way home I had a serious talk with Can. I did not want there to be a party in my room after I gave birth. Even if I had the easiest birth in the world, I wanted at least a day or two to just focus on my newborn and breastfeeding. I didn’t want to play hostess, or have to see anyone besides a few very close friends and immediate family members. Can completely agreed, but he also knew that his family would not be able to respect this. Our wedding was huge, with over 400 guests, none of whom I knew. To me, it seemed like a big show with my mother-in-law as the star, and Can and I as an interesting side act. Yes, we got lots of gold, but at what price? We spent the whole evening going from table to table, with barely a second to socialize with anyone. We danced together only once the whole night, and that just for the cameras. I did not want my birth to be another social event for my mother-in-law. At dinner a few nights later, we broached the subject and got the expected response.

Before even letting us explain our reasons for wanting our birth to be a private affair fully, she snapped at Can that she had visited tons of people after giving birth and it was their turn to reciprocate. I knew she meant “give gold” by reciprocate, but I cold care less if I received gold or not.

Can repeated himself, and she looked at us and said, “OK, then don’t even bother calling us to come visit you at the hospital then.” Furious, I snipped back: “Don’t worry, we won’t call you. That’s totally fine with me.” The table went dead silent; no one knew what to do. It was the first time I had snapped back at her. I didn’t apologize. I turned a stony face towards the television and feigned interest in a local news story. After a minute, she changed the subject and everyone laughed nervously, pretending to forget the incident. We left a short time later, everyone kissing and acting as if nothing had happened. As expected, nothing had been accomplished. I knew she would hijack my birth, like she hijacked my wedding dress and wedding, and there was nothing I could do about it.

I thought I had done everything to prepare for the birth, but I had neglected to factor in my mother-in-law. I couldn’t let her upset me during and after the birth, and I vowed to protect my son from this ridiculous tension. I would do whatever necessary to make my son’s first day as easy as possible. After that night Can and I talked in depth about what we both needed to do for my first days’ postpartum. He knew he probably wouldn’t be able to prevent an onslaught of visitors, but he would tell them to leave the room when I needed to feed. We worked out a silent cue I could use, a kind of secret language for the two of us that could hopefully give us some privacy.