Treasured Life

There is such a big difference between a baby who is cherished and wanted and a baby left to face his first night alone.  When I experienced my first birth as a student midwife, I didn’t really have anything to compare with. In my own pregnancy, I had trouble bonding with my baby, and could easily differentiate/isolate the pregnancy from the end result of a child, though I’m not proud to admit that.  I love my son now, and I loved him then it was just different.  That experience made it easy, or shall I say easier, to understand how this teenage mum could spend nine months with her baby, and then not even look at him after going through the pain of birth.

But I have now seen two very different births.  Births where their mothers cared, where they were treasured and adored. Cuddled upon their rude awakening to the world and settled back to peace.  The difference is huge.
The memory of leaving that tiny precious child in special care for his first night, alone, makes me want to sob, and somehow make things right.  I know he is loved, and his new parents have been waiting a long time to have him join their family, but something inside me wished I had just picked him up and held him close to me.  Given him my warmth and my love.  It just doesn’t seem fair that such a tiny thing should have to pay in rejection for the choices their parents did.  And it doesn’t seem fair that the act of being born was such a burden.  I almost want this child to know, ‘you know what, even if your mother didn’t celebrate the day you were born, Jesus did. I did.’
I look across the room at this tiny infant, who will never remember tonight.  This baby that is nearing his two hour birth mark.  I realise that he will never know the pain his mum went through, or that she did it willingly, just for the gift of holding him in her arms.  He will never remember the way she lovingly called him forth.  ‘Come on my little man.’  And as a man, he will probably never understand it.  I have so much more respect for my mother.

I think that a part of me wants to have another baby, just so I can experience that true bonding in pregnancy, which is the wrong attitude to take into it.  It’s hard to experience these different things as a midwife and walk away at the end of the day and leave it there.  Beyond hard, nearly impossible.  The things that I had to work through in my head, just my emotions to do with witnessing a teenage mum give her child away, was fairly intense.  Even though I understood her struggle, and I loved her, there were still issues that I had to think through, feel through.  I think it’s important to do that, no matter how, whether it’s journalling, or for me talking.  Talking is hard because there are confidentiality issues.  And then after those things have been thought through, or even before, its important to take a break, have fun, relax.  Do other things that I love doing.  The last six months, I’ve barely been outside.  Like true camping/hiking outside.  And I miss it, I need to make some time to go rock climbing and to run through tunnels again.  It makes me feel alive, and it takes the pressure and the focus a little off work.  It gets some true balance I guess.