The Letters of Sylvia Plath Vol 2
Page 53
Love to “Grammy” & Uncle Warren from
Frieda Rebecca, Ted,
& your own Sivvy
TO Marcia B. Stern
Friday 1 April 1960
TLS (aerogramme), Smith College
Friday afternoon: April 1st
Dearest Marty,
I am sitting up in bed typing on the Olivetti, eating yoghurt & maple syrup & staring amazedly still at pink, slumbering Frieda Rebecca Hughes who arrived at quarter of six this morning. She’s lying in the crib a few feet away from the bed, dozing & snorkling as she has been since dawn, after a bath given her by the midwife in my biggest pyrex baking dish. Actually, the baby was officially predicted last Sunday the 27th, but I just grew bigger & bigger & nothing happened. I was wearing that very cool comfortable black & white checked blouse you gave me yesterday which turned out to be my last day of weighing 155 pounds. Saw the doctor & he predicted this weekend. Ted & I went for a long walk last twilight in Primrose Hill & Regents Park in a misty blue light under the new moon, all the buds out in a green haze, lambish weather after weeks of horrid raw grey sleety rain. I planned to wash & wax floors today, bake, sew, get the last things rounded up. Not to be.
I’d just got over two weeks of sinus cold which had left me exhausted & was aiming to write you a long letter, adding a note when the baby came. We’d expected nothing but a boy. Then at 1:15 this morning I woke after one hour’s sleep, groggy from two sleeping pills which I’ve been taking since the baby’s kicks keep me awake all night, to a rush of water & sudden contractions. Bang. At first I thought of going back to bed & calling the midwife at breakfast, but Ted called her & she (Sister Mardee, a little Indian woman whom I’d only seen once, part of the 3-woman shift) bicycled over to “see how I was getting on”, planning to see me started in the first stage & come back at breakfast. I was tired, dopey, wanting to sleep & the pains getting closer & very severe. Thinking this would go on the proverbial 20 hours I felt I needed a shot of something, or gas. But she’d brought nothing, nor did my doctor when she called him at 5 am . . . because my rapidity was all unexpected. Ted was there, holding my hand, rubbing my back & the doctor arrived just in time to supervise the delivery after a total of 4½ hours violent absolutely natural labor. Evidently this sort of rapidity for a first baby is very rare. Except for the momentary despair at the worst part, which I thought was only the beginning, the experience was amazing. The intimacy, privacy, homeiness of it all seemed just what I needed: no tears, no stitches. The nightmare of labor wards, deep anesthesia, cuts, doctors bills etc. in American hospitals something I’m glad to be shut of. We have absolutely no expenses at all, & reduced milk & vitamin costs. As a result, in spite of little sleep & the tag ends of my old sinus, I am in fine spirits & dying to write you first off. My stomach is floppy & my muscles, but I am eager to be up, although the sister won’t let me set foot on earth till tomorrow. I snuck in the livingroom to call mother when she’d left, though.
All other news seems pale beside this: Ted’s book LUPERCAL is just out here, getting pretty good reviews & this Somerset Maugham award which will take us for 3 months to southern Europe either this winter or next. And my book of poems will come out this fall here---they’re much kinder & open to poetry than in America, where loss of money is such a phobia.
Glug-glug says Rebecca, squidging up her face & trying to get milk out of her sheet corner. The midwife came again this noon to check on the baby & will come again this evening to bathe both of us. I am very impatient to be up and about . . . no hospital atmosphere to make me feel anything more than a rather miraculous & tumultuous night has occurred, but my typewriting is getting suspiciously boggled so I will sign off for now. PLEASE write soon & forgive my long silence. I’ll write again when I am up & about.
Much much love to you, Mike Cary & Douglas
from Syl
PS – I’d love to have any copies of BABYTALK* you could send. Frieda Rebecca’s accomplishments to date are sleeping, sucking, holding people’s fingers, yelling bloody murder & looking generally like a rosebud in between!
xxx
S
TO Olwyn Hughes
Saturday 2 April 1960
ALS,* Emory University
Dearest Olwyn –
I am sitting up in bed surrounded by banks of iris, tulips & daffodils, messages of good will & your fine bottle of champagne on ice waiting to be broached with our first visitors & when I can manage a creditable amount. We loved getting your long letter & I was planning to write you at more length than this the night Frieda Rebecca descended on us. Except for my being exhausted from 2 weeks in bed with flu & sinus – the cloud I was coming under during your visit, I think – and my lugubrious interval of misinterpreting the worst contractions – between first & second stages – as only the beginning of a 20-hour anesthesia-less ordeal, I had a miraculous time, surprising both midwife & doctor, who had promised me gas, injections etc. to cover the worst. Frieda Rebecca forstalled them however & the rapidity of delivery made the violence & intensity worth it. The baby is oddly lovely – great blue-dark eyes & a furze of dark hair & legendary skin – Hughes hands &, alas, a Plath nose – but perhaps all babes have widish snubs. Apart from being wobbly on my feet & without apparent stomach muscles, I am in fine shape, learning to hold her & watching the midwife who comes twice a day to bathe her & daub me with various healing unguents. I got the little Indian midwife, not the blond golden-voiced Irish one I’d hope for, but we are both immensely fond of the Indian now we know her – she is immensely kind, capable & dotes on the baby. Ted’s hypnosis, I am sure, made this unusual first labor possible – he was wonderful throughout & is getting expert at handling Rebecca (we’re calling her that). I got up to talk to my mother & yours on the phone three hours after the baby came – hope you like your first niece –
Lots of Love,
Sylvia
TO Ruth Tiffany Barnhouse Beuscher
Saturday 2 April 1960
TLS (aerogramme), Smith College
Saturday: April 2
Dear Dr. Beuscher,
Ted & I are happy to announce the birth of Frieda Rebecca Hughes. She was born at 5:45 a.m. yesterday morning, April 1st, weighing 7 pounds 4 ounces, 21 inches long & covered with white cream like a floured pastry. I am now sitting up in bed typing letters after the morning visit of the midwife (it turned out to be the little Indian one of the triumvirate who delivered me & we have grown very fond of her) who bathes me & the baby, eating yoghurt & maple syrup & hardly able to take my eyes off the baby who has enormous blue eyes, a fluff of dark hair & seems to us extremely lovely: perfectly made.
Ironically, in spite of all my strict arrangements with doctor & midwife about plenty of pethidine* & gas etc. for my labor, I had the baby completely without analgesia of any sort . . . nothing but two bits of barley sugar the midwife happened to have in her pocket, & this due to the record speed of Rebecca’s arrival. Ted had been hypnotizing me regularly with my daily bout of relaxing & napping to have “an easy quick delivery”, which may have had something to do with it. It wasn’t easy, but the whole thing lasted 4½ hours. I’d had a sinus cold for 2 weeks, not slept much & was rather run down; wakened at 1:15 a.m. Friday April 1st after a bare hour’s sleep to feel the waters break. Contractions started immediately & were strong & regular every 5 minutes by the time the Indian midwife arrived on her bicycle at 2 a.m. without anesthesia or anything, just to see me “get established in the first stage of labor” & then return after breakfast. I felt unaccountably unwilling to have her leave: she rubbed my back, washed my face, tried to get me breathing deeply with the contractions, but I was groggy with a sleeping pill & very surprised I had no time to rest between contractions. By 5 I was fully dilated, no question of the midwife’s leaving. She called my doctor, who had also thought to drop by after breakfast & he came just in time to supervise the delivery of the baby at 5:45. The cord was around its neck once “but lo
osely” & by following their directions of pushing & not pushing I wasn’t torn at all, just nicked in the front, no stitches, nothing. The worst time for me psychologically was the series of consecutive intense contractions between the first & second stage which I thought were merely a sample of beginning contractions: I’d read about these 10 or 12 bad ones & if I’d recognised them, would have felt better. As it was, I didn’t see how I could stand 20 hours more of them. Almost immediately I wanted to push & the midwife let me go ahead. Then things were fine: I felt purposeful & controlled & able to sit up enough to see the baby’s head-top in the mirror Ted held. We had expected nothing but a boy & both of us are so delighted with a girl we can’t imagine now every having considered a boy as a possibility. The only really negative times were my vomiting a large dinner up as soon as the midwife came & those violent contractions, the worst, which I thought were a sample of early easy ones. The midwife thought at first I was exaggerating the intensity of them, but as soon as she examined me & saw where I was became nothing but praising & encouraging. I felt marvelous as soon as the baby lay on my stomach wiggling, had tea & slipped in to call mother as soon as doctor & midwife left. Ted was wonderful the whole time & delighted with his new daughter.
I am absolutely delighted with home delivery & wouldn’t ever have a baby in hospital now. The nightmare vision of that delivery I saw at the Boston Lying-In - the mother too doped to know what was happening,* not seeing or holding the baby, cut open & stitched up as if birth were a surgical operation & sent off on a stretcher in the opposite direction from her child-is completely dissipated. No doctor’s bills for us either. Every day I watch the midwife bathe the baby in my biggest pyrex dish & I let it suck every 4 hours & love having it right by me. She yelled for an hour off-and-on between 2 & 3 a.m. last night for the sheer joy of it & we were both very tired but she looked so amusing we sat up by candlelight & played with her a bit. So we nap in the day if she wakes us much. I don’t know when I’ve been so happy. I am surrounded by flowers & telegrams & being tired, bloody & without apparent stomach muscles is just a stage to be grown out of, no real bother.
Other news seems pale beside this to both of us, but Ted’s 2nd book LUPERCAL is out here as of March 18th, getting fine reviews, & he just received the Somerset Maugham award of over $1,000 for the “promise of his 1st book”, the amount to be used for 3-months abroad in the next 2 years. So we’ll be “forced” to find a villa on the Riviera this winter or next: utter bliss to think of a winter of sun & no sinus weather. My book of poems THE COLOSSUS is due out here early next fall & you’ll receive one of the first copies. England is a marvelous country for babies & books & we are happy as we’ve never been anywhere else. Our dream is an eventual London house & garden. With his 2 awards & Guggenheim, Ted’s won over $7,000 in the last 2 years: No doubt there’ll be lean years in plenty ahead, but these fat ones are a great encouragement.
Lots of love to you & let me know when your next baby arrives* & who it is ~
Sylvia
TO Aurelia Schober Plath
Monday 4 April 1960
TLS (aerogramme),* Indiana University
Monday noon: April 4th
Dearest mother,
Well, Rebecca is four days old, almost, and more beautiful than ever. It has been a lovely sunny morning outside & the trees look to be budding in the square. The baby is sleeping in the crib after being changed & bathed by the third midwife of the trio who work in my district, and I have taken my first bath which put me in very good spirits. I don’t respond well to being bedded down & enjoyed getting up last night for a candlelight dinner with Ted: an unearthly veal casserole Dido Merwin brought over to heat up, which we made with some rice. I have a ravenous appetite, drink loads of milk & water, V-8 with gelatine to improve my nails, & orange juice. It is so wonderful not to be in a hospital, but bit by bit to slip back into my old routines as the midwife gives me the go-ahead & as I feel stronger. Just tidying up this or that while sitting on a stool or chair makes me feel pleasant. From now on the midwife will come only once a day, in the morning, to bathe & change the baby until the 8th day, when they will supervise my doing it. From then on, a Health Visitor will drop in now & then to check on any problems & advise me about injections, clinics etc. It is a process of gradual education, much better than being waited on hand & foot in the hospital & going home with a baby you’ve only seen once every four hours.
For the first week, these babies tend to cry & wake at night as they are bathed in the morning & therefore drowsy all day. Rebecca is no exception, & yells herself into fine red fits any time from midnight to four! So I nap in the day to make up for lost sleep then & try to persuade Ted to do the same. You should see him rocking her & singing to her! She looks so tiny against his shoulder, her four little fingers just closing around one of his knuckles. Now, of course, she is sleeping like a top, rosy & pink-cheeked. Already she shows a funny independence & temper. When she wakes very hungry, instead of starting to nurse quietly she will cry, open her mouth & let go of the nipple, rage, wave her hands about, & then try with both hands to hold onto the breast & feed herself. Once she starts sucking, though, after a few minutes of this, she is steady & very efficient. I am on a 4-hour schedule (6, 10, 2, 6, 10, 2) of feeding her. When the midwife leaves me to take over at the end of the week I shall bathe her before her evening feed & she assures me that should help her to sleep before & after her 2 a.m. feeding. She is very small for her nighties & sweaters, so I shouldn’t have to get anything for some time. First thing next week I shall get a pram & wheel her proudly around Regent’s Park & Primrose Hill. I’m allowed to go out with her if it’s nice on the 10th day, & I can’t wait.
We have been surrounded by flowers (from the Merwins, Ted’s parents, some friends of his) & messages of good will: telegrams from Marty & Frank, Louise, & grampy (Now GREAT-Grampy: I hope he’s proud!)
We are dying to hear from you & Warren your reactions to all this. Everybody is most amazed by the rapidity of my labor, especially myself. I am sure one of the reasons I felt so well after the delivery & had no tears or anything is because I had no anesthesia & therefore was able to respond to all the directions of the doctor. And Rebecca, of course, looked lovely immediately, hasty lady that she was.
Things seem much calmer & more peaceful with the baby around than without. The Merwins are going to France for half a year at the end of this month, so Ted will have a study & utter peace by the time I have all my strength back & am coping with baby & household. Now I rely on his cooking, shopping, going to the laundromat etc. etc., & his help---so much better than a stranger’s---will be invaluable in my quick return to normal activity.
I’ll leave just a corner for him to say Hello. I trust you’ve informed the thousands of waiting relatives, friends & fellow-Americans of this Event. I’ll be writing Dot, Frank, Aldriches, Cruikshanks etc. later this week when I’ve done more getting about.
Love to you, Warren & Sappho . . .
Sivvy
TO Edith & William Hughes
c. Monday–Thursday 4–7 April 1960*
ALS, Emory University
10 pm
Hello there!
I am sitting up in bed writing surrounded by the lovely flowers you sent & getting ready to feed Frieda Rebecca before we turn in for the night. She is more adorable every hour, sleeps like an Angel, yells a bit in the early hours just for exercise & looks rather like a rosebud – very pink & delicately-made with perfectly formed little hands & feet: Ted is wonderful with her – a real help in these days while I am slowly getting back my strength, & an expert in wrapping her up & tucking her in after her feedings. I wouldn’t be in a hospital for the world, it’s so pleasant at home with all my things around me, the baby in the same room & Ted writing next door. I hope in two or three weeks or so to be more or less back to normal, but just now am very glad to have the midwife come each day to bathe me & the baby. Of course my two weeks of flu & sinus have something to do with my being wobbly.
Luckily I got over that just before the baby came. It is so good to have her here at last after all this waiting.
We’ve been rejoicing here, too, about Ted’s Somerset Maugham Prize – there’s really nothing he could win now he hasn’t won already! I am so proud of his book. It’s beyond comparison.