The first and only time I saw my baby’s placenta was when I stood up from a kneeling position, newborn in arms, and stepped over it on the floor to get to the couch. I’ve struggled since to find the words to describe it because eloquence has failed me.
The best I can come up with is “18s“. As in “not PG“. Does that make sense?
I found it quite disturbing to look at it. It was so real, alive, vital. So grown up and serious looking. Even now, looking at pictures of them makes me catch my breathe. When my midwife asked me if I’d thought about what I’d like to do with my placenta, I honestly answered “no”. She offered to take it away, I agreed. No further discussion took place. Continue reading Does placenta taste like chicken? And 5 other things to do with your placenta in Ireland