Why does a midwife slap a newborn on the butt?
Ah, forgive me—not “slap the butt,” but “lightly tap the back.” And not all babies, only the 9–11% who don’t cry on their own in the first moment.
If this happened to me in the maternity ward, I'm not against it at all. In fact, I’m grateful to the doctor who awakened Life in me.
Right after birth, action must be quick. Either the baby “switches on” within one minute, or resuscitation is needed in the next ten.
Maybe try convincing the newborn, explaining the danger, outlining prospects? Or sing a fun song, entertain, play? You're already laughing: "What nonsense!"
Right, in this first dead end, only Impulse can help. Simple, like in physics class, when a rolling ball transfers its kinetic energy through collision to a stationary ball.
Not through words and gestures, but directly through the body. Sharp tactile irritation -> Surge of nervous activity -> Reflexive breath -> Cry -> Hooray, the baby will live!
The seeming heartlessness and severity were, in fact, love and meaning.
The birth of something new is a rarity in our daily grind. So we don't know what to do or how to be when such a moment finally arrives.
Out of habit, we try to scare ourselves with risks, tempt with benefits, captivate with theories, or inspire with others' examples.
But in the end, we have to admit: "This isn't it." So what is "it"?
Direct bodily contact with This is needed—without any expectations, guarantees, ideas, words, or hypotheses. Let what looks like a Problem break its silence and cry something back to us.
By the way, now we can look differently at all those slaps, kicks, and bites with which Life stubbornly tries to wake us up.
Sincerely yours,
-Alexander
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