Life and Love in the Season of Birth---命が生まれる季節に思う、いのちと愛について

犬の出産に立ち会った夜、私のなかの“母性本能”が目を覚ました。
息子の初恋に動揺し、でも何も言えず、ただ見守った夏の日。
命がめぐる季節に、家族と本能と愛について静かに考えた記録です。

1. My Dog’s Birth

On the night my dog Hana was about to give birth, I laid out a futon at the entrance and stayed by her side all night.
But her delivery happened at dawn, and I didn’t get any sleep.

That night, I took Hana outside three times.
She couldn’t tell whether the discomfort she felt was from labor or the need to relieve herself.
She squatted repeatedly on the grass, but nothing came out.
Each time, she returned to me with a puzzled expression.

Around five in the morning, a high-pitched “An!” echoed in the quiet.
One puppy was born.
Then, with the same cry, four more followed in succession.

Three boys, one girl.
A total of four puppies.

I thought I would need to help with the umbilical cords, but Hana took care of everything on her own.
She bit through the cords near their bellies and cleaned up the placentas without hesitation.

By six in the morning, everything was done.
There was almost nothing for me to do.

The entrance and the old sheets I had laid down were barely soiled.
Hana didn’t act uneasy around our family, and she took full responsibility for raising the puppies.

They clung to her teats, feeding.
Hana licked up all their waste to keep them clean.
All four grew strong and healthy.

Every day, I was amazed by the power of instinct—and deeply moved by it.

2. My Maternal Instinct

That’s when I realized:
I had a surprisingly strong maternal instinct.

I couldn’t stop worrying about Hana and the puppies.
I often left work early.

Before I knew it, I was growing restless an hour before the end of each workday,
busily submitting last-minute leave requests.

It was like I had entered “shortened working hours for childcare.”
My coworkers must have been baffled.

But at that time, my thoughts were consumed by Hana and her puppies.
I could barely remember the faces around me.

Even the tiniest sounds seemed like puppy cries.
I’d turn toward every faint noise.

When I gave birth to a human baby,
I was driven by the same instinct.

To be honest, I still don’t quite understand what “paternal instinct” feels like.

But my baby had come from my body.
The umbilical cord that once connected us now continued in the form of breast milk.

I was still an extension of my baby.

So it seemed unfair to say to the father,
“Why don’t you understand what the baby needs?”

Maternal instinct bubbles up from within.
Paternal instinct might not.

After giving birth, I stopped getting drunk when I drank alcohol.
The baby woke up again and again during the night.

I’d change diapers, breastfeed, doze off, and then wake again.
A continuous cycle.

I was on high alert, 24 hours a day.

There was no time to relax.
No room for irresponsibility.

Even when I drank, I didn’t get tipsy.

3. My Brother and Me

By the way, I have a brother with a disability.

When I’m with him, I feel calm.

When we eat out or go on trips together,
I don’t think about what I want to eat or where I want to go.

Instead, I think about what he can eat and what he might enjoy.
And then, interestingly, good ideas come to me.

It feels right.
Maybe it’s my maternal instinct at work again.

When I was in my twenties—at the age to be thinking about marriage—
my mother once asked me,
“Don’t you have anyone else to travel with?”

It’s not that I didn’t have a partner.
It’s not that I was caring for my brother out of obligation.

I genuinely felt most at ease when I was with him.
Watching his happy face healed something in me.

But a strong maternal instinct doesn’t always bring peace.

When I was raising my own child,
I became overly sensitive.

I couldn’t sleep.
My physical and mental health suffered.

Too much of anything can be harmful.
Maybe maternal instinct should come in moderation.

4. Middle School Romance

Changing the subject a little—
my son, a second-year middle schooler, got a girlfriend.

She was a third-year student in the same club, the club president.

They became close as she coached him in their sport,
and eventually, they started dating.

When I’d pick him up or drop him off,
I often saw the two of them talking quietly.
They seemed to be getting closer.

It was sweet and touching to watch—
but I pretended not to notice.

Then came summer tournament season.
It was the final tournament for the third-year students.

She, as the club president, lost at the district level and retired.
Meanwhile, the vice president, also a third-year, advanced to the prefectural tournament.

That must have been emotionally hard.
It was an individual sport, after all.

Still, the club president said,
“I reached my goal of making it to the top 16. I’m going to keep playing in high school.”

She also decided to volunteer at the prefectural tournament as support staff.

Her dedication and maturity stirred something in me again—
my maternal instinct.

Of course, it wasn’t my place to step in.
But I did wonder:
How was my son supporting her through that difficult moment?

5. A Quiet Farewell, A Quiet Support

Around that time, I heard something I hadn’t expected.

My son had quietly broken up with the club president—
and was now dating the vice president.

Apparently, the two of them had started doing voluntary practice together.
Just the two of them.

I had never asked where or with whom he was practicing.
I had assumed it was the club president.

The day I found out, I was so shocked,
I couldn’t bring myself to make dinner.
I even skipped washing his sportswear.

I didn’t yell or take it out on him,
but inside, I felt shaken.

He’d never introduced me to the club president.
All my ideas about their bond were just in my head.

Still... why did they break up?
My thoughts wouldn’t settle.

I took a deep breath and thought it over.

Seeking something stronger and more beautiful,
moving upward and onward—
maybe that’s one of our animal instincts.

Winners tend to shine.
They draw us in.
Maybe that’s all there is to it.

But even so,
I wonder...

Wasn’t there a gentler way for a middle school romance to end,
one that didn’t leave someone behind?

I found it endearing that they paid 170 yen
to use the gym for their practice “dates.”

Still, someone always gets left behind.

I’m the kind of person who naturally takes care of others—
like I do with my brother.
But I don’t expect that from my son.

Young people are supposed to move forward.
They chase new things, beautiful things.

New encounters.
New experiences.

I want them to keep moving forward,
upward, and outward—
without looking back.

Along the way, they’ll lose,
they’ll feel the pain of being left out—
and they’ll grow kinder for it.

We humans don’t have the same instincts for birth and parenting that dogs do.
Men can’t carry a baby,
can’t breastfeed.

Even if paternal instinct exists,
I still don’t quite know what shape it takes.

I won’t stop young love.
I just hope—
that one day,
you’ll look back at baby photos.

And remember:
you were once helpless,
you cried often,
and someone always held you close and forgave you.
That’s how you grew.

Today, my son went out again—
for voluntary practice.

#エッセイ #家族 #母性本能 #育児 #中学生の恋 #犬の出産 #息子の成長 #命の物語 #note書きました