December 16, 2013

I am in a makeshift hospital, the kind you imagine in a war zone, or in a third-world country. Around me is soft light radiating from the walls of the canvas tent. I feel just warm, calm, and protected, even though those around me seem to be concerned, fearful. I am pregnant, about to give birth, reclining in a bed up off the ground, swaddled cozily in white sheets. There is no one else there except nameless faces of the few doctors or nurses who come in to tend to me. I realize the moment has come, and I can feel the baby coming thru me.. I feel no pain at all; in fact, it feels really nice, like a long-awaited release. I give a push, and the next moment the child is out, and the nurse/doctor/my attendant says, “Oh, it’s already all done.” Then he/she swaddles him quickly and hands him to me. At first touch, I feel so completely overtaken with the enormity of preciousness in the small bundle of new life… I feel like I must devote every bit of my awareness and learning and ability to be able to make good on it’s choice to have me for a mother. The nurse puts the baby in my arms, and for a moment I awkwardly hug him to me, his relaxed body being so supple and floppy. But then I remember how to hold a baby… like a memory of motion returning.