You are no less of a mother just because your baby is birthed on an operating table. The love you feel for your baby (at whatever point it arrives- the love, I mean. It isn’t always instant, and that goes for all mums too. That ‘rush of love’ sometimes meanders rather than races) is no smaller because you did not push her out of your vagina. Your power, your strength and your courage is no smaller because your plans went out of the window. Your abilities are no less potent becaus they sliced you open instead. You birthed your baby AND you had major surgery too.
While most would recover from abdominal surgery by lying in bed, pillows plumped and needs met, you do not. You pull night shifts just the same as the other mums. You feed round the clock. You change nappies. You cook food. You mother.
You are no less of a mother.
You are no less of a mother just because your baby arrived differently. It doesn’t mean you didn’t try. It doesn’t mean you didn’t agonise over the decision. It doesn’t mean you didn’t question your abilities. You did all of that and you went ahead anyway.
You let them have you. You sat on the side of the bed while they injected your spine and you offered yourself up to them. Your life in their hands. Complete trust. Hope. Belief. You watched the hands on the clock turn on and you heard the clink of surgical tools on metal trays and you blinked. Once. Maybe twice. And you continued to breathe. Because what else could you do?
You are no less of a mother just because your baby was born on a table. You are a warrior because your baby was born on a table. Because you knew what you needed to do, and you did it. Because you closed your eyes and you waited.
You are no less of a mother. You are amazing.