Newborn Betrayed

Today was S-day. Similar to D-day minus the bombs and death thing. It was the day of Esther's first shots. As I took before and after pictures of her brown naked buddha belly as we awaited the dreaded needles, I thought of how this innocent body whose only intrusion up to this point has been the cold sterile light of a birthing room, how I, as her mother, in following drs instructions, was somehow betraying her. It was awful, it was necessary? It seemed barbaric. Yes, I've done it before. Yes, I have other children and yes, I felt a similar tug at my heart with them. For Esther though, with so much already taken away from her at such a young age, I feel a different form of responsibility. That's why we went for it and that's why I cried. I actually had hot tears and smeared mascara and snottingly apologized to the nurse as to my wussiness. She understood. Our dear, resilient Esther. De-flowered by society's medicines, done to protect...a have to, but still a betrayal of innocence as if I had poked her myself. The first poke surprised her, the second and third pissed her off to the point of a loud shriek known by all mothers that follow these rules. My hug consoled and the loud sniffing and hot tears could no longer be distinguished between hers and mine. Mother obeyed, newborn betrayed.