Mother but not mother

My daughter is due to give birth again.

As wonderful as that is, I am feeling anxious.

I will try to explain.

Watching my daughter give birth is one of the hardest things I have ever done. I would have swapped places with her in a heartbeat.

Not because she’s not capable. She floors me with her brand of capable.

It’s also not an experience I would deny her because it is utterly utterly amazing. Even though it’s incredibly exhausting, painful, and has zero dignity attached to it. All of which are instantly forgotten the moment you receive the best present in the world.

Impotence doesn’t begin to describe how I felt.

By the time I arrived she had already been in labour for hours. She had her partner and didn’t want to wake me too early!

The only two things I could do to help? Accompany my brand new granddaughter to the specialist to have her suctioned head examined. Talk about scary: he propped her up and aggressively probed her head with his huge hands for what seemed like an eternity before declaring “you have a perfectly fine granddaughter here”. Phew!! The other was helping my daughter in the shower because she had lost so much blood and wasn’t allowed to stand. I will spare you the details of how and why she lost so much blood.

I was genuinely surprised when she asked me to be there again because I really didn’t think I was useful or that she needed me. When I told her this she said “I don’t think I can do this again without you there Mum”. OMFG. Best. Compliment. Ever.

I’m still anxious though.