The Yeah, Yeah Sisterhood

While attending a baby shower for a young friend, it was a bit disconcerting to realize that I was among the oldest women in the room.  Although my youngest will turn 20 in a few weeks, I still think of my kids as children, remembering their entrances into the world as if they occurred only yesterday.  Surprisingly, I was not depressed by this realization that I have now logged so many years; I was merely amazed by the persistence of nature and tickled by the joy that life brings as it renews itself.  Mothers know, as no man could, that this rhythm of life is our immortality—a continuous sisterhood that reaches across the globe.

It was surprising to see how much has changed since I was a young mother.  Many of the gadgets and devices upon which I depended to sooth, comfort, cradle, and rock my children have now been struck down as unsafe.  We strapped our babies into tight carriers of thick cotton—an outer womb, of sorts—sacrificing our backs as the little ones grew to toddlers.  Now, these products come in breathable materials with ergonomic features and back support.  But despite all the new technologies and wonder-fabrics, a pair of hand-made booties still brings us all to our knees.  Nothing conjures the ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ as the mental image of one experienced mother working her needle to feather a nest for an expectant grandchild.  With each stitch, we feel not only the promise of love for the next generation, we recognize the continuity from generations past—a magic thread that connects mother to child and mother to child.

The lovely brunch was an interesting counterpoint to a new BBC showed that premiered on PBS later that night.  Call the Midwife is a fascinating chronicle of a young girl, set in the East End of London during the 50s, who has recently completed her training as a midwife.  She is sent to what she thinks is a hospital, only to find herself—an Anglican—living in a convent.  There, she and a few other young midwives, serve the fertile women of this socioeconomically-strapped community. 

Through the young midwife Jenny, who rides her bicycle through the fog and squalor, we are shown the power of women to overcome their circumstances.  Featured was a beautiful Spanish woman, Conchita, who was a souvenir of her husband’s tour of duty in the Spanish Civil War.  She speaks no English and he no Spanish, but this has not stopped then from producing 24 children—the current pregnancy making 25.  Jenny attends her labor after Conchita falls and suffers a concussion—forcing her into labor at 30 weeks.  Another young mother of three (her son pisses on everything because he has no pants) discovers a special gift from her husband—a large syphilitic lesion that spells disaster for the baby she is now carrying. 

Every home these midwives visit is strewn with sheets and diapers, suggesting that in addition to feeding their broods, these women are enslaved by the endless chores that surround the children they must bear.   It is interesting to note the prevalence of cigarette smoking among these young mothers, a detail that adds to our sensory overload as we imagine the layers of dirt and practically smell the pervasive odors (remember the child who pisses on everything).

As we admire these young midwives for their strength and their calling—a gift of the National Health Service, we are told—we are encouraged not to think of them as the heroes of the story.  It is the mothers, they tell us, who are the real heroes.  These women, who make the best of the domestic situations they are dealt, endure the wills of their husbands and the limits of their finances to bring forth life under the most challenging circumstances.  They are inexhaustible, radiant lights in the lives of innocent children, doing for them what no others would accept wages to do.  It is this strength, found uniquely and magically in motherhood, which keeps the world going.