Or so it seems. The cows are calving very regularly now and it’s hard not to wince at the bellow of a cow in calf as the sound carries across the yard to the house. I’m only nine months after having a baby myself so I can empathize somewhat. The husky bellow, the discomfort, the fidgeting, trying to find a comfortable position. I stand back at a distance to watch her as she finds her own pace. A blister appears that will burst and eventually you see a pair of crubbeens appearing.
You hear her breathe heavily and shift again knowing that she has to deliver this one safely and that she has been put here to do so. She might stand and then lie down again until eventually, fulfilling her purpose, pushes everything she has into her abdomen to deliver that calf. From the shadows, I will her on. You can do it. That’s it. It hurts like hell but you have to. Come on. And then, greedily I wait for that rush of relief that comes when a mother pushes her young safely into the world. In a slide, so quickly, a moment never to be revisited but as a ghostly feeling in the memory of a womb. The rush into the world, parting from the one who has carried you, the mother. It is difficult to describe the relief that you feel when that rush happens, just before the cord is cut or the afterbirth arrives. It is the feeling that you have said the most important prayer of your life and it has been answered aloud.
Thank you to my mother and yours.
Happy Mother’s Day.