New Mamas

When our cows come home off of summer pasture, I always think they look incredible.  They have fuzzy winter coats and big round bellies.  They walk comfortably still for the last month of pregnancy.  Sounds like any pregnant woman, really.  Our society loves to see a big round belly, doting on a mother-to-be.

Glowing

One day we will go outside to check around, and all of a sudden, if we’re lucky, she will look up from her work with the same glow I’ve seen in women.  The aura of new-mom emanates from her and her calf on the ground.  This is the most beautiful moment in many women’s lives as well.  I think that’s why we take those first photos; those amazing pictures of newly made mothers, holding their babies the for the first time.  The exhaustion of labor has dissipated, and the weariness from pregnancy has melted away.  All that’s left is a beaming mother and her bundle of joy.  There’s a piece of me that is jealous our cows can experience this moment of bliss year after year!  So they, all mothers, --even four-legged ones-- begin their new babies’ lives looking healthy and happy.

…..Then the calf stands up; the woman awakens for a feeding…..

And life gets real!  It is a good thing that we are pregnant for so long, and that newborn joy is so strong because the hell that follows wouldn’t be worth it if not.  

Feeding

We have a 7 year old blaze-faced cow that just.. looks.. terrible!  She should be one of our fanciest cows, but after delivery, she looks deflated.   What was the epitome of pregnancy below her now hangs on her like an old winter coat, all sad and worn out.  All the fluff is gone.  It doesn’t fit her anymore and looks burdensome.  She maneuvers around it, still struggling to stand with all her joints and bones feeling worn out and creaky.  As she makes it to her feet, she looks around to satisfy what I’m sure is a ravenous hunger based the production going into her giant milk bag.  However, before she can even lower her head, here comes baby.

He nudges up to her and starts sucking with an unabatement only babies have.  She always has more to give even when it looks like she wants to give up.  He jabs his nose up into her bag to get more milk; she barely notices.  Pure love?  Maybe. Pure fatigue? Definitely.  Yet she stands like a proud mama statue, stoic and humble at the same time, letting her calf nurse until his heart’s and tummy’s content.  Then the little ungrateful (insert favorite expletive) takes off like a bat out of hell, just a black streak across the field.  His tail is up and signaling that the race is on.  

And she will unconditionally follow.

Following

We have a corn field that must be a hundred yards across or more.  A calf was peacefully nestled away in some tall grass outside the fence.  The devoted mama stood and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Never braying to wake him, and as long as she couldn’t see immediate danger, she stood at the edge of the fence and waited.   I hobbled over the fence (in all of my postpartum grace) to push him back in the cornfield.  She didn’t like that at all!  She went to hooking and snorting, and he shot up, ran from fence line to fence line in less than a second while she was stumbling and fumbling to keep up, a mirror image of my own uncoordinated postpartum mama-attempts.   Then, that little you-know-what, well, he sneaked right under the next fence!  So she waited with the patience only a mother could have, but it is that sleep and sanity robbing kind of patience.  

Yet she wholeheartedly waited.

Forever

That kind of patience needs a new definition.  It is where you really forget all your preconceived ideas of motherhood and just be a mother.  We realize all things baby are cute.  They’re little, and those tiny bodies hold so much wonder.  We forgo sleep to stare at awe-inspiring faces and touch tiny hands.  How can God make something so amazing in such a small package?  Somehow, their beauty diminishes ours because I’ve never seen a beautiful postpartum animal.  The weariness and stress wreaks havoc on us!  Our younger bodies are gone. Our beautiful bellies (and other areas less concealed on cattle) are sagging, and weight is shifting.  Not to mention the sleep-deprivation!  Sunken eyes, sallow skin and hair, you can even see it on a cow’s hide, and not a moment to ourselves.  

But we endure.

We endure for love and obligation.  We can’t imagine life any other way even when it is awful.  As I watch calves populating our pasture, I realize some mamas haven’t been as lucky.  I’ve never had to deliver in 20 degree weather or had a coyote stalking us, and my heart goes out to mamas nurturing their babies long after the baby isn’t breathing.  So we take our midnight feedings and chasing after a runaway because we are mothers.  We give up our sleep and our bodies because we are mothers.  A fight to protect, a relentless control, an unconditional love, an absolute honor it is to be mothers.