I had my baby at Harrisburg Hospital, as many women in the central Pennsylvania do. I believe my labor room was on the ninth floor, and while I was laboring, I had a view of the South Bridge and the railroad bridge just before it. There was a long train stopped on the bridge, and during contractions I would stare at a red railroad car, boring a hole through it with my intense gaze accompanied by serious efforts to control my panicking breathing.
After Adele was born, I moved down a floor into a room with a much less pleasant view of the top of the parking garage and off, far in the distance, a bit of the South Bridge.
The day after Adele was born, I found myself alone with her in my hospital room, sitting in a rocking chair by the window. As she slept in my arms, I glanced out the window and watched the cars fly across the South Bridge on Interstate 83. I started to wonder…how many brand new moms just like me had sat in that very chair and shared teh same view – the world flying right by while they cuddled their newborn baby?
Since my whole life had been turned completely on its ear, I couldn’t fathom that other people’s lives went on as normal. That there were people speeding along in their cars completely oblivious to the new little miracle in my arms. Life was going on, even though for me, for those few moments, it felt like it was totally standing still.
Now I never drive across the South Bridge now that I don’t glance over towards the hospital and think of the new mom holding her new baby wondering what the rest of the world thinks about this signficant life change.