Mom buries placenta, waters it with breast milk as part of a traditional Balinese ritual

From pills to smoothies, post-partum moms throughout history have found unique second lives for their baby’s placenta.

For Melbourne mom Jessica Patra, it was burying it in the backyard and watering it with her own breast milk.

“I was literally squirting my milk onto the plant outside,” Patra told news.com.au.

“[It] sounds odd … Even some of my friends, they were like, ‘You did what?’ … There’s lots of people that don’t understand it.”

However, the symbolism behind the 43-year-old’s act is beautiful.

Seven months ago, Patra welcomed her daughter Mia into the world, committing to protecting their health and basking in newborn bliss with a 42-day confinement.

“During that 42-day period, I just really was just so present as a mom, learning her; she was learning me. It was just a very beautiful time,” she recalled.

It was a strict boundary she set with plenty of notice.

“I really created those boundaries with everyone before she was born to let them know that I will be in confinement and people essentially can’t come and see us,” she explained.

“I’ve just heard so many horror stories from so many moms about having to clean the house or make sure that there’s drinks and food for people when they arrive. I just can’t even imagine that.”

She protected her spiritual wellbeing too.

Inside a pot and beneath the roots of a juvenile frangipani plant, Patra planted her placenta as part of a traditional Balinese ritual.

The sacred practice honours Kanda Empat, the four spiritual siblings who accompany, guard and protect a child throughout their life.

“Every day I actually went out to her plant and would acknowledge her Kanda Empat and just say, ‘Please protect her, love and guide Mia throughout her journey,’” she explained.

Family, including Patra’s father, would video call during the confinement to hold ceremonies for Mia with incense and offerings.

The process taught her about something we rarely do, particularly in the first few weeks of parenthood.

To stop. To slow down.

“I see people rush through these major life transitions. There’s this expectation that women need to bounce back, but it’s like, hang on, what does the mother need? How can we hold her? How can we nourish her and make sure that she’s protected?” she questioned.

Through her daily care of the frangipani tree, she found a striking metaphor for how society often treats new mothers.

While mothers are expected to constantly hold, feed and care for a baby, they’re often left longing for their village to hold them too – and sometimes the village doesn’t respond.

“It’s almost like nurturing, filling the cup up of a mother. Filling up her glass of water or giving her food, checking in and having no expectation for her to message back or send a photo,” Patra said.

Currently, the plant is still small, with Melbourne’s winter chill not the ideal environment for a frangipani to bloom.

But she has noticed that breast milk has proven its liquid gold status in gardening too.

“During winter they’ll always shed their leaves. They’ll essentially die off, and then they’ll come back. But this particular frangipani that’s in the pot, there are still green leaves on there,” she shared.

“It hasn’t flowered yet. I hope and expect it to during summer when it gets hotter here.”

These days she doesn’t make offerings to the tree, but the reminder of the tradition and spiritual roots is still as strong.

“It’s a really strong, powerful presence, I feel,” she shared.