Were there prayers, herbs, rituals, etc. that I would be expected to use? What kind of superstitions might I have? Am I looking forward to the baby, or understandably nervous about the possibility of death? And am I preparing myself for that possibility spiritually as well?
I'm assuming that most European experiences would be Christian, but I'd love to hear a Jewish or other experience as well. Most interested in high middle ages, but again, not necessarily picky if you've got something interesting to share!
(I felt guilty about just linking, and wrote a new answer. Enjoy!)
Childhood mortality in the European Middle Ages was around 50% by age 15, with the first four months of life being the most dangerous. Mothers, meanwhile, had somewhere between a 1%-2% chance of dying in an individual childbirth (scholarships estimate about a 10% chance of dying in childbirth over the whole course of one's life, with first births being the most dangerous). So as you can imagine, both medieval society at large and medieval women developed strategies they hoped would offer some protection.
Medieval medical and legal texts had a certain way of treating pregnant women as essentially the biological matter surrounding the reproductive system. The enormously popular On the Secrets of Women, falsely attributed to Albert the Great to give it more authority, has a chapter called "On the Exit of the Fetus from the Uterus." He couldn’t have said "giving birth"?
Furthermore, women were seen as a danger to the fetus, ready to miscarry (accidentally or on purpose) at the wisp of a feather. This belief gave rise to some two-faced charity efforts that might seem all too familiar today: a willingness to help pregnant women…and only pregnant women, not new mothers and their babies.
The most frequent form of charity involved food. This could mean looking the other way when a future mother stole food. In English and French law in the late Middle Ages, it could mean not necessarily looking the other way, but at least delaying corporal punishment (whipping, the pillory, &c.) until after the baby was born. Some cities, however, organized formal food distribution to pregnant impoverished women. The best example is early modern, not medieval, but it’s worth it: in seventeenth-century Constance, civic officials made sure that all pregnant women got a wine ration.
One fourteenth-century mayor London went a step further than handing out food. He founded a special section of a city hospital (kind of like a long-term homeless shelter place, not necessarily what we think of as a hospital) that had eight beds for women who were pregnant outside of wedlock—the implication is strongly that they were prostitutes and the goal was for them to not try to induce a miscarriage. Again, this was only a temporary home; Whittington kind of hoped the women would use this as a chance to turn around their lives, but you know, probably a little money or some help once they had a kid to take care of would have done a lot more on that end.
Aristocratic and noblewomen faced their own challenges in terms of being treated as a danger. We know from actual practice, not just prescriptive law, that many pregnant noblewomen had to endure violating physical examinations to make sure they were actually pregnant (not just claiming to be in order to avoid sex with their husbands). Agnes de Turs faced examination by eight women, who poked and prodded her breasts and stomach while asking her a whole host of questions about her sex life. Johanna de San Martino was locked away from even her friends and servants of childbearing age for the duration of her pregnancy—was her husband afraid that she would be exchanging abortion tips with her friends or something?
Funny, in all of this, few people seem to have taken note of one of the biggest dangers to pregant women and their children: men.
Fifteenth-century pastoral writer Dietrich Koelde even had special instructions for pregnant women in his handbook to a religious, moral life:
Furthermore, the woman should be meek and she should not anger her husband, because much evil and harm results from this.
Koelde acknowledges the situation…but nowhere does he tell husbands not to abuse their wives. He tells wives not to make their husbands abuse them.
Even in this hostile environment, medieval women developed their own strategies to actually care for themselves and their future children. Rich women had more options, if they could evade the fate of Johanna de San Martino. Queen Eleanor and Henry III (so, not that Eleanor and Henry) insisted on remaining together in France for the duration of her pregnancy; Matilda of Saxony (the daughter of that Eleanor and Henry, yes) traveled home to stay with her father, where she felt she and her baby would be safer and have better care.
One of the most important things women did to protect themselves and their children was to prepare the birthing and lying-in room. Since this was an all-female environment, as a general rule, it did protect women from spousal abuse for a time. It also allowed the placement of various religious objects and charms that women hoped would protect them. My favorite example (well, probably every medievalist’s favorite example) is St. Margaret of Antioch. She’s one of the dragon-slayer saints, who was actually eaten by a dragon while in jail for being a Christian. (She’s one of the so-called virgin martyrs, who didn’t exist but have awesome life narratives).
In her hagiography, Margaret slays the dragon by bursting out of its stomach! Medieval iconography takes a very particular angle on this event. Illuminators depict it in the same way they show births by Caesarean section. A C-section was the absolute last resort for a difficult birth in the Middle Ages, since it inevitably meant the death of the mother. (There is one example floating around the Internet where someone claimed they found a late medieval Czech case of the alternative. Monica Green, who is THE authority here, has explained patiently why that claim is false several times.)
For medieval women heading into childbirth, charms featuring Margaret of Antioch, or her name, or even just a scrap of paper/parchment with her name or part of her hagiography written on it, could serve as a way to ward off the possibility of needing a C-section in order to save the baby.
And while doctors were only ever called in to perform C-sections or other procedures would die, women would do their best to obtain the presence of a midwife. This was practical, but it was also spiritual. Just in case all else failed, the Church endowed midwives with a special prerogative otherwise reserved for the clergy. In an emergency situation, where there was absolutely no time to wait, they were empowered to perform baptisms. So a baby born dead or dying could still make it to heaven.
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You can also read some of my earlier answers if you're interested:
With all due respect to the wonderful /u/sunagainstgold and what is truly an excellent answer ... the answer misses a crucial aspect of what was needed to make certain the mother and baby survived.
What about the fairies!!!!
Whether called fairies, elves, piskies, trolls, or variations on the term hidden folk (and several other terms), these entities represented a leading concern: these supernatural neighbors would abduct mother or child if they found an opportunity. Childbirth made both particularly vulnerable to abduction, typically accomplished by leaving a stock in place of the mother (a dummy that would magically appear to be her corpse) or a changeling (a living supernatural being made to look like the baby, but it would fail to thrive and grow normally).
/u/sunagainstgold hints at one of the ways to address this problem: "It also allowed the placement of various religious objects and charms that women hoped would protect them." It was also important the close up the house so the supernatural beings couldn't sneak in through a window or door. Iron needed to placed above doors, and something of iron should be hung above the crib.
It was of course necessary to have the baby baptized as quickly as possible, since this inhibited - but it did not altogether prevent - the threat of abduction. In addition, it was of crucial importance for the mother to be "churched": this involved a ceremony not unlike baptism, allowing her back into the congregation after participating in an inherently animal-like undertaking that was outside the Church (this is how my Swedish mentor, Sven S. Liljeblad (1889-2000), described what his mother had to do after his birth). Usually a new mother who was able to be churched reduced her vulnerability to abduction considerably, but until that time, mother and child were best kept indoors in a closed house, preferably with someone on guard. And with lots of iron around. Iron is always a good preventative against the dangerous undertakings of these supernatural beings.
Okay, so last week I wrote an answer about how Jewish parents dealt with the death of their children, basing a great deal of it on Elisheva Baumgarten's excellent book Mothers and Children. I went back to it now and just flipped to an earlier chapter to get an idea of what was going on. (Unlike my other answer, in which I also drew on my prior knowledge, I genuinely couldn't find any other sources of information about this besides Baumgarten's book. But it's great, so who cares.)
Now one thing that I'll mention that I SHOULD HAVE mentioned in the other answer is that a lot of what Baumgarten does is cite passages from midrash and the Talmud- Jewish sources which often antedate the medieval era- and assume that these are dicta by which Jews lived. This is generally accurate- that said, just reading a midrash's take on a subject doesn't mean that we can assume that that is how every new parent actually thought. But it's the general Jewish ethos to the extent that it was different from the surrounding Christian one, for which of course see u/sunagainstgold's as always excellent answer.
So Baumgarten opens her chapter with a midrash about what the expectant parents (particularly the father) pray for- "for the first three days... that the infant should not decompose; from three to forty days... that it should be a male*; from forty days to three months... that it should not be miscarried; from three months to six months... that it should not be stillborn; from six months to nine months... that it should be born safely." She notes that the mother isn't super present in this, and says that she wants to bring the focus back on to her. She also notes, though, that it's very difficult for scholars to penetrate the women-only world of the birthing room.
Women were VERY intent on being able to become mothers. The Bible provides many examples of women- Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, Hannah- who were unable to conceive and distraught about it; Rabbi Judah the Pious, a prominent (if somewhat hard-line and ascetic) medieval rabbinic figure, wrote in his commentary on Genesis that the Bible uses the plural "the lives of Sarah" because she had one life before giving birth to Isaac and was "reborn" afterward. Men are not depicted as being equally desperate for children, but were encouraged to seek out wives who would bear them offspring; in Rabbi Judah the Pious's work Sefer Chassidim, he gives two pieces of marriage advice: that men should seek out women who will bear children and whose mothers don't have a history of miscarriage, and that even if men don't have a natural love or affection for their wives they should love them anyway for the children they bear for them. Marriage and the creation of future generations ("p'ru u'revu," be fruitful and multiply) are extremely important in Judaism- but ironically, while the women are the ones who bear the children, it is only the men who are obligated in the commandment to be fruitful and multiply (have children). There are two different ways to see this: either as a positive for women, in that it is impossible to command a person to do something which is hazardous to their health (as bearing children is to women), or as a negative, in that they are merely seen as receptacles for the commandment incumbent upon men.
Conception of a baby was seen as each parent contributing its own seed, per Galen; the woman provided the seed for the skin, blood and hair, and the man provided the seed for the bones, nails and brain. While fertility was considered an accomplishment of the father, infertility was often blamed on the mother- or, in the rare occasions that it was attributed to the father, it was blamed on witchcraft inflicted by a woman. Women's reproductive health was monitored by midwives at the ritual bath (mikvah) each month; men's was not, as it was seen as embarrassing to him. There were also several tests (adopted from Christian sources) involved in determining infertility in otherwise healthy couples, mostly focusing on the woman- for example, if a woman urinates on a leaf and it dries up, she is sterile, and if a man's semen is poured in cold water and does not take the shape of a man then he is sterile. Since divorce is a built-in part of Judaism (unlike in Christianity), it was seen as a way for both men and, to a lesser extent, women to break free of childless marriages- men by divorcing their wives if they had not been able to fulfill the commandment to have children after ten years, and women by asking for a divorce** if their husband will not give them children due to the inherent loss perceived in their life- see above for how significant child-bearing is for them.
So now on to what you ACTUALLY asked about- the woman pregnant and in labor. Women hoped for pregnancy from the time they got married, and as mentioned they were examined monthly by midwives at the ritual bath, which is where their pregnancies would be confirmed. From that point, the woman did her best to stay protect herself and the baby including through the use of prayers, amulets and incantations- some amulets included gemstones, gold coins, animal parts, or her husband' belt. She was not supposed to leave the house alone, and was given anything she wanted, particularly healthy foods. Her husband would hire a midwife who would oversee her care and delivery. Midwives were highly regarded, called in the Jewish community (as in the surrounding Christian communities) "wise women"; even rabbis writing responsa would consult midwives when it came to questions of gynecology which were beyond them. Unfortunately, few sources elaborate on the actual medical practices of these midwives, who were generally older women who had borne children and who were official but unregulated. However, one source, a circumcision manual, mentions herbs used during labor, including some which were smoked under the birthing stool. It also elaborates on the need to beware of the curse of the malevolent midwife, which could prevent women from conceiving or from giving birth.
As mentioned in the midrash I cited above, there were many fears associated with pregnancy and labor, but one should note that nowhere there does it mention the fear that the mother will die. That is considered to be on her head, though she is to be prayed for (the first known customized blessings ["mi shebeirach"s] said when reading the Torah during prayer were for women giving birth). Traditionally, women were seen to protect their lives during labor via the observance of the three "women's commandments," which are meant to compensate for Eve's sin in allowing Adam to eat from the Tree of Knowledge- lighting candles on the Sabbath, taking challah***, and ritual purity in marital relations. However, by medieval times, childbirth was seen as a time when a woman was judged for all of her actions- Rabbi Judah the Pious encouraged people not to say anything bad about a woman in labor so that her bad deeds would not be remembered and judged against her. Labor was seen as necessarily painful, difficult and dangerous- again, part of Eve's curse. (In this regard Jewish and Christian beliefs aligned.)
The birthing room was specifically arranged in order to ensure a safe delivery of the baby. The woman specifically needed to be protected from the midrashic figure Lilith, seen as a malevolent demon. To protect against her, amulets were hung around the room, an iron knife (the Hebrew word for iron, barzel, is an acronym for the initials of Jacob's wives- Bilhah, Rachel, Zilpah and Leah) placed under the woman's pillow, and verses and chants were said to hurry delivery and prevent evil spirits from interfering. There were many women present to assist, specifically including the midwife, for physical assistance, and a woman designated to pray for the mother. The midwife was usually Jewish; while Christian midwives were permitted by Jewish law to deliver Jewish babies, mothers were told not to be left alone with them for fear that the midwife would kill the baby- this seems to have been related to a fear that a Christian midwife might try to convert the mother or baptize the baby during birth (a not unreasonable fear considering the strain of birth and the very religious nature of birthing rituals, both Christian and Jewish).
*There are many rabbinic sources for a preference for boys, who were seen as more important. There is a controversy in the Talmud over whether the commandment to be fruitful and multiply means to have one boy and one girl or two boys; a medieval commentary on Genesis remarks that the reason why the twelve sons of Jacob have their names explained but his daughter does not is that the daughter was not as significant. According to the Talmud, the gender of the baby is finalized at 40 days, and up until that point the father can pray for a boy; however, after that point, he is warned not to pray anymore.
**In Judaism, the man divorces the woman and not vice versa. While women could ask for and be granted a divorce in this case, this often involved them having to give up the money owed to them in their marriage contract (ketubah).
***Challah, while also known as the name given to Ashkenazic Jewish bread eaten on the Sabbath, is actually originally the portion of the dough which is taken off and given as a tithe to the priests.
Even though a pregnant woman's risk of dying in childbirth was relatively low compared to infant mortality, it was still a common fear then, as it is now. As female literacy improved throughout the 1500s and onwards, women would write "legacies" for their unborn children - parenting guides dedicated to explaining how best to raise their children in the advent of their own death in childbirth.
Could someone with more knowledge than myself expand on this practice? It seems tangentially related to the topic - not a charm or superstition, but a sort of ritual anyway.