Kapu Tī with a Māmā
Ataria Sharman: Please introduce yourself and your pēpi piri pāua.
Emma Te Rina Smith: Tēnā rā tātou katoa, ko Emma Te Rina Smith tōku ingoa he uri whakaheke au nō ngā waka o Horouta, o Nukutaememeha hoki ko Ngāti Porou tērā. Ko Kyrin Riwai Te Whakawhitinga o te Rā Nuku tāku pēpi piri poho nō maunga Hikurangi, nō maunga Taranaki hoki tēnei pēpi Māori, e tipu ana ia i raro i ngā manaakitanga o Taupiri maunga.
Ataria: What was your hapūtanga experience like?
Emma: Honestly, I thought my experience was the ‘typical’ beautiful pregnancy experience – everything was normal until I was 30 weeks, and I found out I had gestational diabetes mellitus (GDM). This is a type of diabetes that only happens during pregnancy. Poor diet is the main contributor but it’s important to remember that although during pregnancy the appendix needs to work double-time to produce insulin, the whenua actually blocks insulin from being used.
Due to GDM, my birthing plan was thrown out of whack (scary for this anxious māmā!). The plan was to labour at home for as long as possible, make my way to the birthing centre with my parents and partner and gracefully deliver my child with no medication at 40 weeks. Then when he was out, I would karanga my pēpi into the world, his father would say his prayers, my māmā would karakia, my pāpā would cut his cord. All of us would let the old ones, our tūpuna ki tua o Te Awemāpara, know their uri whakaheke had arrived safely.
Reality: due to the GDM and son’s size, my midwife, sonographer, diabetes pregnancy team and doctor at the Waikato women’s health clinic told me I would deliver early (38-39 weeks) and at the hospital. His gestational size was roughly 10 days ahead of my body, which meant my body would naturally start the labour process early and if not, I would be induced. I researched all the possible natural induction methods and remedies as well as what induction looked and felt like. I figured I had a new… more flexible… plan for us. At 36 weeks, the baby's lungs are still developing so I had just over a week to bring on labour naturally and safely.
This was stressful. I walked for an hour every morning, an extra 30-minute walk for the dog and then 10 minutes of wonky walk every day. Also known as gutter walk this is when you walk (half) on the curb to encourage the baby to move farther down in the pelvis. I had as many spicy meals as possible, ate fresh dates like crazy and took evening primrose with iron, iodine, b12, super greens and collagen powder. I also did stretch and sweeps from 37 weeks onwards, three days on and one day off.
At our first stretch and sweep, I was 1cm dilated. Early labour commenced and lasted 10 days – my son was almost in the perfect position. However, during active labour, he flipped spine to spine and I laboured with huge back pains at home for 2 days. I spent most of this time in the bath, attempting to relieve the pain until I couldn’t take it anymore, so we made our way to the hospital. Covid-19 meant that I could only have one support person. We were screened, tested and then found out that my partner and I were Covid-19 positive. We were wheeled to a special room that had to be reset with a bed and everything we needed had to be called in while we laboured.
I told myself I would labour and birth without medication but when it came to it I was sucking on the gas to get through every contraction. Until 4 am I continued to push but I couldn’t feel my son moving, and I was in so much pain I reached the point of “I can’t do this”. I made the choice to ask for the epidural. I was 8cm dilated and my son's head was stuck on the part of my cervix that wouldn’t dilate. We were told the best and safest option would be a caesarean section.
I was so scared, stressed out, feeling weak, and my phone was flat. We had no charger and I needed my mum more than ever. Luckily my midwife found my mum’s number in hospital emergency contact information from years before. She rang my mum and I cried on the phone telling her what was happening. She told me it would be alright and we had to do what was best for our son. She asked the hospital staff if she could switch out with my partner, which wasn’t possible.
My mum and Dad sat in the waiting room all night while I laboured. In the early morning, my dad left and returned with my dog, and my brother pulled up to the hospital while on the phone with my brother in Ahuriri. They waited in the hospital car park to hear from us and tuku inoi kia manaaki i a mātou.
The epidural went south, it’s supposed to numb the bottom half of your body – for me, the right side of my body went numb. I was unable to administer the drug myself and had to continue using the gas to alleviate pain on my left side until the operating theatre, doctors, and nurses were ready for me. My midwife was called, the hospital midwives explained what would happen, and the doctors came to make sure I understood the risks. Then I was wheeled off to the theatre. I was introduced to my theatre staff who were PPE’d out and had their names written poorly on their masks. I was scared and tried to remain chatty, while they switched out my epidural for another anaesthetic and I was prepared for surgery.
Laying down with my dressing gown over a bar above my chest, the surgery began, and I repeated ‘te inoi o te Karaiti’ over and over again. The anaesthesia had done something to my body and my top half was shaking uncontrollably, which is normal but I felt unsafe. My midwife said, “he’s here” and asked my partner to cut the cord – he wasn’t keen but I made him. I heard my son cry for the first time, but I couldn’t see him. She then asked if I wanted him on my chest and I said “no, I feel unsafe for him”. My partner did his best to show me his face, but all I could see was my son’s blanket.
As they closed me up, I lost control of my body. My conscious mind started to drift and it took over an hour for my mind to realign with my body. During that time my partner held our Son and sat close to me while the nurses waited for me to whakapiki ngoi. My midwife had told me that was the first time she had ever seen someone respond to anaesthesia and a c-section the way I did. We spent a few hours in our room, feeding, resting and loving our son. At 4am we were taken to the Covid-19 positive ward where we stayed as a family for five days. That in itself is a story, but maybe for another day. Most important thing is that i uru atu taku tama ki te ao kikokiko, ki te ao mārama – healthy, happy and chunky.
Ataria: Where are you raising pēpi and how has this been for you?
Emma: My little whānau and I are occupying two out of four of the bedrooms in my parent's whare lol. I can’t see myself anywhere but with my whānau. I was fortunate enough to be raised around my Nanny Ngoi and feel privileged to be able to raise my son around his tūpuna. Being a first-time māmā, I wanted to do everything perfectly, but that all crumbled. The night feeds, anxiety-driven questions, māmā guilt and sleep, wai Māori, kai deprived māmā breakdowns have been draining on the whare tapawhā, but I am blessed to have so much support around me. We are blessed and I am slowly but surely learning how to move with a human on my hip every day. Nothing’s perfect, but it’s perfect for us.
Ataria: How do you bring your Māoritanga to being a māmā?
Emma: Ia rā, ia pō ka kōrero Māori ahau ki taku tama, ka waiata i ngā waiata o tōku pīpītanga – but I find that that gets tedious and so I like to explain to my son what we’re doing or talk him through his big emotions in reo Māori and reo Pākehā. We karakia whenever we feel the need, ka pānui pukapuka i roto i te reo Māori, watch Māori TV to encourage reo Māori i te kāinga. We started to encourage tikanga for him while in the kōpū, tikanga that could help him walk through this world with confidence and we stand firmly by those tikanga now. Not to mention his name.
Ataria: What do you love about being a māmā?
Emma: My Son reminds me of my growth every day, just existing – he makes me forget all the evil that occurred in my life. Just existing, he reminds me that love exists, that love is infinite, and that I would do anything for my Son’s happiness.
Ataria: Can you describe a special moment between you and pēpi?
Emma: One night I had been awake for over twenty four hours, dependent on caffeine at this point. While my son slept I had been cleaning the house, trying to get to some work and study done. When he was up we were playing, singing, bathing, reading, feeding – the normal baby stuff. Then 4am came, māmā was tired and my son would not settle. He was crying, he wouldn’t feed, he wouldn’t allow me to bring his wind up. Every time I tried he stiffened his legs.
Everyone in the house was tired and I was determined to do this on my own. I sat down with him, wrapped him up again, put him on my chest and I heard his little poots coming out. My Son had taken the biggest tūtae. I cleaned him and gave him a bottle before giving him a nice, warm, early morning bath. He looked up at me, content, and for the first time, he smiled at me with love in his eyes. I cried tears of joy. With the house in total disarray, my baby was clean and happy and we settled in for a morning nap.
Ataria: How do you show self-love and care for yourself as a new māmā?
Emma: Giving my Son to someone and taking a long shower. Super long showers with different kinds of body washes, scrubs and moisturiser. Washing and treating my hair before chucking it in braids. Cleaning my face with different cleansers, clay masks and tonics. Sitting down fresh with a hot cup of milo and a book in absolute silence before going back to my Son.
Sometimes I’ll go shopping by myself, pick up a tank mocha and come home and clean. A clean space is a peaceful space for me.
Ataria: Do you have any advice for other māmā?
Emma: Postpartum depression can occur within the first 6-8 weeks of your child’s life, it’s normal to have the baby blues as your body and hormones are readjusting to a life without a baby inside you. In this time, it may feel like your body can operate on barely anything – it cannot. Eat. Sleep. Drink water. Take your vitamins and medication/rongoā. Take time away. If you cannot take your childs’ crying, put him down somewhere safe and walk away, catch your breath and then go back in.
Talk to someone. It may be hard to communicate your thoughts, but no one can read your mind. Stop, breathe and try communicating again, remind people that being a māmā is hard and you need the support you need.
Karakia for yourself, before others, and remember that you are not crazy. Never allow someone to tell you that you are.
Okea ururoatia māmā. You have all your tūpuna behind you, encouraging you, looking out for you and loving you - take care of yourself and your (and their) uri whakaheke.
Ataria: Is there anything else you’d like to share?
Emma: Mauri ora always xo
Emma Te Rina Smith – a māmā just like you.
