When a midwife records the sex of a newborn baby

In recent years I have heard statements about a newborn's sex being 'assigned'.  

What does this mean?

In all my years as a midwife, and all the thousands of babies that I handled and observed, I did not ever see a baby who needed to have an assignment as girl or boy.  It's almost always obvious.  

When our son Paul was two and a half, and we were awaiting the birth of our fourth child, Paul declared (with the purity of thought of a 2-year-old) "I just want my bruvver to be a boy!"  

Back in the days when a midwife filled out forms to record the details of each baby's birth, The baby's sex was one of those details.  The options in 2010, on the attached data form, were 

Sex:     Male □  Female □      Indeterminate □ 

The initial record of a newborn's sex is just one of the many items that the midwife records, along with the mother's reproductive history, details of this pregnancy, the labour, birth and postnatal events, and the baby's condition.  These details are collated into annual reports of perinatal data, and deidentified data are published for each year.

As I have already indicated, the sex of the baby is usually undisputed.  However, if there is something unusual about the baby's external genitalia, the record may read 'Indeterminate'.  This baby may, after further investigation and discussion, have had an 'assignment' of one gender or the other.

You may wonder what's the point of this discussion.

In recent years I have become increasingly aware of trends such as gender fluidity, as if gender is a choice that a person makes, and in this context, sex assignment.  I decided to put on record, in May 2022, the fact that the sex of a newborn, and therefore the gender, is recorded rather than assigned.

I do not have the mental agility these days to argue against the crazy things about gender that are being taught to children today.  Children whose minds and behaviours are being molded by people they trust.  My prayer is that children will use their clear vision, their uncluttered minds, to say "my bruvver is a boy."  Or, as in the fairy tale, to call out "but the emperor has no clothes!"  

    

 

How to Handle a Woman

You might recognise the title of this post as a song in the 1960 musical 'Camelot'.  In the 1960s, I doubt that many eyebrows would have been raised.  After all, in the '60s Australia a man's home was his castle.  If he 'handled' his wife in a rough or cruel way the police would not intervene.  In today's world police will respond to such a call, and provide what support they can and 'handle' the offending man.

Today's world is very different from the 1960s.

Today, when I saw the words 'How to Handle a Woman' as the title of the sermon in our Church, I reacted strongly.  Not happy!

In the world of 2022, when politically correct leaders are not prepared to define a woman as female-adult-human, I find 'how to handle a woman' offensive.  The thought of being handled!  Even as the message explained the wonderful truth that "Jesus loves his bride in the same way we ought to love others", I could not see past the unequal status implied in this title.  

All my adult life I have known the truth of Biblical principles, that "There is no longer Jew nor Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male or female, for all of you are one in Christ Jesus." (Galatians 3:28).  Just because it's clear doesn't mean it's followed.  Early Christians struggled with the racial issue (Jew/Greek); for centuries dominant cultures have given privileged position to one social-financial status over another (slave/free), and we Christians (some of us, at least) still have a problem with male and female.

People who read what I write will not be surprised that I am an admirer of all creation, especially the woman and infant.  When the work of creation was completed, God looked at what he had created and said it is good.  In midwifery I was frequently in awe of the mastery of systems in conception, pregnancy, birth and nurture of the child.  It IS good.

Good when systems are working to the design.

Good when not fiddled with, manipulated, interrupted.

Good when not feared.

 

Good, but not infallible.  Even the most healthy mother can be compromised.  Recognising that situation, and being able to take appropriate action is the essence of midwifery.

 

My husband Noel and I are in our 50th year of marriage.  We have both changed with time, and with the influences and experiences we have faced.  I am happy to record here that neither of us set out to 'handle' the other.  

  

He restores my soul

Hello dear reader.  It's a chilly Autumn afternoon here at our home among the gum trees.  But I don't want to talk about the weather.  I have a warm knitted cape made from beautiful pure wool over my shoulders.  But I don't want to talk about knitting.  Not today, that is.

You may know the source of the heading I have used for this post,  'He restores my soul'.  It's a phrase in one of the most well known pieces of Christian scripture - the 23rd Psalm.

I would like to tell you today about how I have experienced the restoring of my soul. 

Firstly, I would like to record here a couple of points.

1.  This site, 'villagemidwife' has allowed me to share my knowledge and passion for midwifery for a decade or more.  I loved writing, story-telling, commenting.  Then, quite suddenly, I realised I had to stop.  I was physically burnt out.  I was old.  I needed to go to bed, and stay in bed, each night - a midwife may not have that option. 
   
2. I have continued to use the 'villagemidwife' site so that I remember the person I was.  I wrote, and spoke, with confidence.  It did not matter to me if anyone read my posts.  My hope was to record experiences and learnings, so that perhaps one day someone would experience for themself the wonder of childbearing and nurture as I had. 
3. I have to acknowledge that I feel much less confident writing about life generally than I did when writing about mothers and babies.

 

The past couple of years have brought the covid 19 pandemic to our homes, schools, hospitals, ...  I have followed news reports and websites closely, learning the language of this virus, and the often confusing recommendations of the host of medical experts whose expertise is in infectious diseases, immunology, and epidemiology.  In the State of Victoria we had months of severe restrictions, and lockdowns.  

In this context of frequent change to the rules, I experienced an indefinable drag on my energy.  The aches and pains of an ageing body, the shoulder, the knees ...  I missed seeing my children and grand children.  The wonders of modern communication, with Zoom, and face to face telephone calls somehow did not satisfy me.  I need face to face.  I need touch.

The lack of energy was, as far as I can see, depression. 

Then these words became real.  "He (GOD) restores my soul."  He restores my soul, my whole person, from the emptyness, the drag, the loneliness, the sadness that has crept into the very essence of my being.

I have known the Twentithird Psalm for as long as I can recall.  My mother must have taught it to us.  We often sang it in Church.  But I had never before noticed this beautiful phrase, "He restores my soul."  Now it jumped into my consciousness.  Not a power switch - now you're fixed!  But an ongoing work of restoring and continuing to restore, as long as it's needed.  

And I dare say that ongoing work of restoring will be needed for some time - without limits.