Why do we Even Give a Fuck?
Why do we even give a fuck? Why care how mothers birth and babies are born? What the mother’s experience is? Her sense of being, bonding, self? Is it some personal agenda, a crusade of some sort? What makes us available at three in the morning to drive across town to rub a labouring woman’s back with scented oils? Why sit for hours on end encouraging, believing, knowing that she can do it? Why wait wait wait patiently? Sit for hours on end? Wait for this delicate yet awe inspiring process to unfold? Why trust? Why keep your hands to yourself while a mother rocks her hips, finds her rhythm, learns to trust herself? Why wait for the cord to finish pulsating? Why bother with slippery slimy skin to skin while a woman discovers she is a mother and falls in love like she never knew possible? Why wait and watch and wonder and see while the newborn, sticky with vernix, unfolds from her intra uterine state, licks her lips and slowly shuffles towards her mother’s nipple? Why the fuck would we want to do this work? We must be...
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