What is a Godmother?

I had been aware that Anne hadn’t been quite right for a wee while. Not since the birth of her baby in fact. Her first. A normal birth. A fine boy. But a boy who reminded her of her father. And she didn’t ever want any reminders of her father. It was, though, unexpected to hear a voice at the other end of the phone saying “I am Mrs M’s GP. I have had her admitted to a psychiatric unit. An urgent case.” Couldn’t quite understand why her doctor was phoning me! His next words came as a shock. “Please come to my surgery as quickly as possible and collect the baby.” “But…..but….” “Immediately please. I have a waiting room full of patients.” “But, his father……….” “A few hundred miles away. Hurry please”. And he had gone! Impossible to argue any more. So I started to hurry. But what to do? Too far to walk. Driving the car while holding the baby wasn’t really an option. A bus? That would take an age. Who can I ask for help? Most car drivers that I know are at work right now. Let me think. That charming lady who comes into the shop occasionally I seem to remember that she lives quite near the Dr’s place. Wonder if she would be available? Her response was immediate. “Of course. My daughter just happens to be here with her car”. Not only charming, but helpful too. We arranged to meet at the surgery. A harassed medical man handed over the baby with obvious relief. “Did Mrs M leave a key for the house? Baby things? The pram? A carrycot?” His response to all my questions was negative. Difficult! As I drove home, the wee lad slept soundly in my customer’s arms. Her daughter had followed in their car, ready to drive her mother to another appointment. Once I had parked my car near the flat and retrieved the baby from her , I was on my own. First things first. A visit to the corner shop to collect disposable nappies, some baby cream, a jar or two of baby food. -Couldn’t let the wee lad starve. Had better get a bottle too. And milk powder. Though his mum has started him on solids. Not easy shopping with a baby in one arm. -Oh dear I forgot the cotton wool. Got a few odd looks from other customers. The shopkeeper’s expression was alive with questions. -Oh well. Better explain. Did well to do so. She called someone to help me carry the bags up to my flat. Wonder what the baby thought of all this? He had been quiet until I got to the till, when he started to whimper. The whimper soon became a lusty cry. Poor wee soul. He was probably wet or worse. Hungry too. Better get a move on. Home at last! I was not unused to babies and nappies. My job as a midwife had seen to that. However, I felt all fingers and thumbs as I set to work to change what had become a very wet and smelly baby. His cries didn’t help. They had increased in volume. But I finally managed and soon he was dry and sweet smelling, if still hungry. Boil the bottle to sterilise it, mix the milk powder and boiled water. A bottle would be more comforting for the wee lad than the contents of a jar of baby food. My, he was certainly ready for his feed! Fairly gulped it down. That finished, he was eager to socialise and lay happily smiling and goo-ing, unaware of my worries about his Mum and her mental state. It wasn’t long before he was soundly asleep. There was a sense of relief, but also a tinge of regret as I handed over a sleeping baby to his father some hours later. It was the first but not the last time that I had to answer an emergency call and rush to care for my godson. We don’t see each other often, since we live at opposite ends of the country. But we do meet occasionally and he phones. We are bound by strong ties. Ties which have their origin in the darkest periods of his life? Perhaps. He was too young to remember those events. His christening was a lovely family occasion, one sunny spring morning . I felt pride as I held him. The celebration party afterwards was a feast. I have taken pleasure in choosing appropriate gifts for him as he has gone from childhood, through the teenage years to manhood. That’s not what being a godmother is all about though. I realised that, in that corner shop, as I struggled to keep a firm grasp of baby and shopping. When they asked me to be godmother to their child, his parents had said: “We want someone, whom we can count on to be there for our son, if, one day, we aren’t”.