Friday, June 1, 2012

Intellect and Instinct

Quite often, animals who are bred in artificial environments end up rejecting their babies early on because they don't believe that they will survive and who can blame them?

Thousands of years of evolution have caused these creatures to develop powerful instincts, Instincts that equip them to give birth to and nurture their offspring in a way that only they know how, In a way that keeps them alive, protects them and prepares them for life in the wild.

So when a Lioness, Tigress, Giraffe or Elephant finds themselves clock watching for the next bucket feed in concrete  enclosure with windows looking in, you can easily imagine why they might think...what's the point?

Just like a zoo animal, this here Premmy Mum had those doubts and worries, those fears and concerns. What was this place I was in? These machine's have nothing to do with what I'm geared up to provide. Who are all these people interfering and watching me? (The looking like an elephant wasn't so far from the truth either)

But unlike my primitive friends, as a human being I have cognitive functions that allow me to see things from numerous different perspectives, the ability to understand what others may be thinking and why they act in the way they do.

So when I saw these doctors and nurses interfering with my baby, stealing my role and keeping her safe, I accepted it, tolerated it, understood it but it went against all that felt natural, against everything instinctive.

It was no wonder it was confusing, these two processes occurring simultaneously, I felt torn between what I hoped for and what I felt.

It was the intellect that reminded me to hold on to tomorrow, to the idea that I could one day take over, be the Mother I wanted to be, knew I could be. It was intellect that took me to the unit each day, that motivated me to express the milk, to sit along side an incubator hour upon hour.

But the instinct was a selfish and nagging source of contention. A persistent and constant reminder that my baby was not my own. Not in my arms, Not protected by me. Not nurtured by me. leading me to believe on an unconscious level that my actions were fruitless, inconsequential, pointless.

So when I think about the issue of bonding, of connectedness of being a 'good' mum. Do I feel guilty? 

A little.

But I also see that I fought my way through the fear, cuddled through wires,machinery and bleeps and found some hope in hideousness..

And for that I feel okay.

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