The Reception
By: Dina Algharabally
Tags: Postpartum, Birth, Outdated, Societal Pressures, Hostess

Maternity Room, Royale Hayat Hospital, Kuwait

You’ve just ejected an 8-pound human being through your vagina, which is so raw at this point, you can barely feel it. Thank you ring of fire! If you had an epidural, you may be temporarily paralyzed from the waist down. If you soiled yourself in front of the handful of strangers in the room who just helped deliver your baby, you’re now actively trying to forget that ever happened. The doctor puts your newborn on your chest and you are elated, of course. Your emotions clearly displayed on your snot-covered face. You’re crying…probably ugly crying. You’re overwhelmed with relief but you’re also squinting…secretly trying to check if he got his grandfather’s nose.

Wait, there’s more? That’s right: the placenta! You have to push that out too. You do this with the help of a well-meaning-yet-slightly-abusive nurse who elbows your belly until your placenta is in position to expel itself. It emerges, warm and slimy and you welcome the relative ease with which it slides out. You hold your breath as the doctors perform the APGAR test, your baby’s first test on this earth and he passes. You give a long, exhausted sigh of relief as you’re finally being rolled away to your private room where you can recover from what was objectively the most intense experience of your life and bond with this brand-new human.

But first, a few burning questions. Do you want caramel covered chocolate or plain? Godiva trays or boxes? Cambodian or Indian incense? You also need to finalize the amount of Arabic coffee you’re having prepared at home and the customary Arabic sweets that go with it. Your aunt, known for her excellent Arabic coffee, has volunteered for this task and will be responsible for delivering the goods in the morning. Dates, don’t forget the stuffed-dates, or the rangina, a definite crowd pleaser! The placement of the five flower arrangements you’ve pre-ordered needs to be set too. Luckily, your sisters are on it and your mother is still holding the baby, so you keep going. The party favors, professionally wrapped crystal jewelry dishes, have to be unpacked and assembled neatly by the door. You supervise as your cousins arrange them neatly in a stack. Tomorrow you, your mom and your sisters (if you have them) will be hosting 70–100 visitors. The venue? Your hospital room.

Morning comes after a painfully sleepless night. But forget the exhaustion now, you don’t have time for that. Today is the day you lay on your lace-trimmed sheets in your silk nightgown (both bought especially for this occasion), hair professionally blown-out by a stylist, who does, indeed, make hospital visits. Today, you sit on your throne-bed, smile wide and make small talk with aunts, cousins, second cousins, colleagues, neighbours and even a few acquaintances who happened to get the memo. Yes, there is a memo of sorts. After the birth, a beautifully curated text message (with an attachment similar in style to a wedding invitation,) is immediately sent out to your invitees, announcing the birth of your child, the location of your reception (i.e. your room number) and the times you will be receiving guests. This is usually done in two shifts: 9 am — 1 pm and 5–9 pm. Because that’s how it’s done in Kuwait. Your wedding may be the most formal occasion of your lifetime, but it is followed closely by the birth of your first child.

If you are breastfeeding, working on your baby’s latch on will have to wait. If you’ve had a C-section and have been instructed to take regular walks to relieve yourself from what could be extremely painful post-surgery gas, well your gas will have to wait too. Even your ability to get up and change what is essentially your adult diaper comes to a halt. And if you’re dying for a quick nap? Suck it up! The last thing you need today is an audience, but an audience is what you have. It’s not the low-key kind either. This audience is dressed to the nines. I’m talking stilettos, cocktail dresses and updos only a hair stylist can perfect and does, just for this occasion. It’s these reception goers who are always the easiest to spot, strutting down hospital lobbies in their heels and off-the-runway outfits, at times, navigating their way through the sick and/or injured. The juxtaposition of these two groups is always as fascinating as it is disturbing.

If you want to shield your newborn from this onslaught of visitors, many of whom will let their curiosity get the better of them and ask to see/hold/kiss the baby, you may send him to the nursery. Although, that doesn’t guarantee that some women, say 20–30 of them, won’t head to the nursery at the end of their visit to ask for a viewing from behind the glass wall. After all, how can they leave without first establishing which family’s features are more prominent in the child’s one-day-old face?

What about your partner? What’s he up to today? He may drop by, in between reception hours but he is spared the duty of co-hosting as it’s strictly a female-only event. This is not everyone’s reality of course. There are some who choose only to deliver their baby in a hospital and not also to use it as a formal reception venue. Many still hold off until a month or two after the birth to hold their reception at home. Then there are others, like me, who go to extreme lengths to avoid people all together and threaten to disappear from their own reception, Houdini-style, should their mother attempt to host one for them.

There are many things about the post-birth period that Arabs do really well. It is customary for new moms to leave their husbands behind and move back into their parent’s home for 40 days after the birth, where they and their newborns are cared for until they regain their strength. Mothers, grandmothers and aunts rally around the new mom, holding the baby and caring for his siblings while she naps, showers, and has a warm meal. Traditional dishes, packed with vitamins and nutrients believed to heal a woman’s body after the birth are prepared and served to her daily. Postpartum doulas are basically built in to the culture, they just happen to be family. But for now, you must live your Meghan Markle moment. Chin up, back straight. It’s 8:30 pm, you’re in the final stretch, but you still have a lot of eyes on you. You smile and as you watch your mother’s friends continue to walk through your door, congratulating her on the arrival of her new grandchild as they take their seat at your reception.