A Mothering Sunday post

Mothering Sunday was traditionally a time to visit the mother church – either the one where you were baptised or the nearest cathedral. However, in the UK  it has also become our Mother’s Day.

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There are still risks in becoming a mother, but here in the West, they have become rarer. This is something which has changed the experience quickly over just a few generations. My great-grandmother died from complications of childbirth in the 1920s, but when I approached the birth of my own children, I could be confident that we would both survive.

But that is here. Across the world both maternal and neonatal mortality remains high, just as it was for women here in the past. The female characters in my books all long for children, but they all know that this desire for children could be simply wishing for their own demise. The births they face will be hard, even the straight forward ones. Both Baena in Kenneth’s Queen and Eadgyth in The Saxon Marriage face births which are far from straight forward. Across the books are characters who lose children to prematurity, stillbirth and in their early years. Such scenes are always tough ones to write, but they are necessary for such was the reality of life for these women. However, I also get to write plenty of happy childbirth scenes, with the emotions for those women upon welcoming a healthy child into the world undoubtedly very similar to mothers in 2019.

[image error]Although not a main character, in Kenneth’s Queen we are introduced to Cinaed’s mother, Unuis. We learn from her that his birth has been a tricky one, as she gave birth far too young and remained ill for some time after his birth. What was that like for her? Here’s a short story for Mother’s Day.

Unuis’ story

   Unuis watched resentfully as the wet nurse brought little Cinaed to her breast. It was no one’s fault that she had been unable to feed him herself. No one’s fault that she had lain semi-conscious when her milk came in and still not properly regained it when it dried up again. But she hated being unable to care for her own son. The baby had been born over a month ago, but it was only in the last few days that she had been strong enough to even hold him.

She looked down, unable to watch another woman nourishing her son. It was an indignant squall that made her look up again. Cinaed had been placed in his crib, but he did not sound happy about it. The wet nurse went to pick him up again.

“No, I will take him,” Unuis said, trying to make her voice sound strong.

“But, my lady-”

“He has just been fed. You may go now.”

Unuis did not watch the wet nurse leave the chamber as she picked up the crying baby. “There, there, my little one,” she soothed. But it was of no avail. Cinaed continued to cry.     The noise pierced her to her heart. She felt so useless. Of course Cinaed would not be soothed by her. He had no idea who she was. The wet nurse had become his true mother.

She closed her eyes to stop the tears falling and began to sing a tune. It was an old Pictish tune that she often sang to remind herself of her homeland. Gradually the crying changed to whimpers and soon stopped altogether. Unuis opened her eyes expecting to see that the baby had gone to sleep. But he was wide awake, gazing up at her out of shiny gray eyes

“Oh, Cinaed,” Unuis whispered, a smile spreading over her face. She was certain that nothing could improve the perfection of that moment. But the baby had other ideas. He opened his mouth to smile a wide gummy smile up at his mother. Never had Unuis seen anything so beautiful.

Cinaed’s smile melted into a yawn, but he seemed contented to keep lying in her arms. Unuis curled up on her bed, her baby cradled close to her as his eyes gradually closed.

Feeling tired herself, Unuis placed her head next to Cinaed’s. She knew that she would have to summon the wet nurse at some point in the night, but she no longer resented it. Instead she felt grateful to that woman who had kept her baby alive when she could not. It no longer even mattered that she did not remember his birth or the moment that she was told that she had a son. This would be the occasion she would cherish for the rest of her life. The moment she was certain her precious boy had recognised her.

Happy Mother’s Day!