Throughout Space and Time
When it comes to birth, I am much like the Mother of God. Sure there are glaring differences. My husband is wonderful, but far from divine. Though my heart beams at the sight of each of my babies, there is no bright star shining above any of them on their birthdays. My memory is marked by the births of my children, but there are no international holidays (not yet anyway) in honor of them.
Despite these discrepancies, I do share many similarities with the Blessed Mother. She gave birth nine months after being espoused to the Holy Spirit; my firstborn came nine months after my wedding day. She desperately sought shelter for imminent birth; I delivered my second child twenty minutes after arriving at the birth center. She bore the Light of the World; I bore my third on the Feast of the Epiphany. She had a freebirth in the middle of the night, and so did I with my fourth. Mary was the chosen vessel bringing forth the god-man. I arguably brought forth the most adorable baby boy to ever grace the earth.
I experience birth as a profound initiation, connecting me as woman to the many life-bearing mothers around me. Birth connects me to past generations, allowing me to grasp that my own mother was once in this same life-changing place, gazing upon me for the first time. I participate in the timeless ritual of procreation, but it is so much more than increasing the last digit of the seven-figure world population.
In the first tender postpartum hours, I am of one heart with every mother who ever lived and my vulnerable child is every person who ever entered this world. I have just encountered the sacred, I am holding the divine. Truly, I am much like the Mother of God.
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