Here in our freezer--beneath the various Trader Joe's frozen items and beside the ice--resides my placenta. Technically, it's Jack's placenta, but let's not get into semantics.
Here's a closer look...
The placenta was born almost a year ago, and I have not done with it what most homebirthers do: no encapsulation, no burial, no bonfire, no stew (yes, some eat it like meat--the only meat, by the way, that does not require killing an animal). So, what to do? And why have I held on to it?I didn't want to bury it under a tree in our yard because I hope we move soon, and I wouldn't want to leave behind such an intimate piece of my DNA at a house that I'm not completely connected to. It's too late to dehydrate it and put it into capsules. And I'm not sure what its expiration date is, as far as eating it goes. Plus it's probably freezer-burned. And I was too busy raising a baby this past year to think of other options. So there are my reasons for hanging on--or at least the surface ones.
It goes deeper, I think. This placenta was Jack's constant companion for 39 weeks. It fed him; it cushioned him. And it was my link to him before I got to touch his face and hold his little body. This placenta is so heavy with deep meaning that I can't seem to part with it. But I will, and there will be a ceremony, prayers, and sage-burning. Maybe some candles and moondancing. It will be honored. More honored than it is sharing the same space as Kashi GoLean waffles.
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