Prenatal and Perinatal Ramblings on a Computer Crash

A few days ago my computer crashed. My brand new computer, barely a month old, that I loved, that I did everything with, my new best friend… I was trying to be good and do the operating system update being requested, when that horrible, scary symbol appeared.

I remembered vaguely having heard about it years ago. That black circle with a diagonal black line across it, like the Do Not Enter signs on the road, indicating the places we should not go, the directions to avoid. What had I done that I could have avoided? What other direction could I have taken? Well, for one, I could have backed up my data just before the update. Usually, I do that. Feeling so much pressure from the recurring request to update, I forgot.

It amazed me how much of my life history can be represented in my relationship with this object. Yes, I’ll confess, my computer is an object. It isn’t really my new baby, or my best friend, or my assistant, even though the assistance provided is immeasurable, perhaps the only thing immeasurable about a computer.

How could I have become so attached to this new entity in my life? How could I have become so dependent on it? Why did I feel like my right hand had been cut off? Or half of my brain? Or … what body part did it represent? It certainly seemed like some aspect of my body was gone. I felt the loss. I felt shock when, after an hour and a half of patiently trying everything, the kind Apple support man apologetically told me it would have to be taken in for repairs. Could I live without this appendage? I was reminded of when I broke my wrist a couple of years ago. The physical pain was much worse but the shock and disability were actually comparable.

I dreamed all night about my computer and what was on her that I might not ever see again. When they came to pick up the computer, I felt the tug on my heart as they carried her away. How would she be when she returned? Would they be able to fix her? Would my data still be there? Or would it be a completely different entity, returned to me in the guise of my dear computer?

Again my history resonated. Three days after my birth, I have been told my mother felt the three-day blues and asked how her daughter was. The nurse told her she’d been crying for hours. Even though it was not the official time to bring the babies to the mothers for feeding, the nurse agreed to bring the baby to my mother, who happily breastfed the poor thing. As she held the little one, she noted with surprise how quickly the baby was changing. Her eyes looked a bit different. Her nose did, too. Her mouth seemed to be changing.

A few hours later, they brought me to her during the regular feeding time. Suddenly my mother realized the first baby had not been me! The point of the story for her was that she had enough breast milk to feed two babies. For me, there was a poignant story of lack of bonding. My mother didn’t even recognize that the other baby was another baby!

Would I be aware if they changed my computer and told me they hadn’t?

I sit in these days away from my new baby wondering if they have looked her over yet. Has anyone given her the attention she needs? When will I see her again? When will they bring her back to me?

Attachment, Bonding, Love and Loss

New mothers similarly long for their babies when they have attached. Attachment is about being close to each other for protection and survival. Human babies are entirely dependent on their caregivers for survival needs. They cannot feed themselves, move themselves, clean themselves, or self-regulate.

Every new skill is celebrated. She can hold her head up! She has started smiling! With each development, we recognize her humanness a little more fully. Already in love, we hold on to her, carry her gently, hopefully explain to her what we are doing, preparing her for upcoming transitions, speaking softly and moving slowly so her new immature nervous system can process without being overwhelmed.

When mothers and babies are separated, as happened routinely in the 50s when I was born, and still happens today, particularly in cases of emergency, there is a powerful sense of loss. Even when mothers choose this separation, as may occur with adoption, their bodies physiologically long for their baby. Their breasts hurt, needing a newborn to suck on them. Their hearts hurt, even if they say they are fine. Babies suffer, too.

Everything in evolution prepares new mothers and babies to be together. If the other is not there, there is a physiological reaction as if the other has died. The grief may be unbearable. For babies, the sense of danger is immense because they are so completely dependent. If they feel unwanted, as may occur even when the pregnancy is discovered, they appropriately feel afraid and may go into a paralyzed freeze state. Staying still and small may protect them from being found and annihilated.

I pause here and take a breath. Wasn’t I talking about my computer? How do I slip so easily into the horrors of unwanted babies?

 Early templates are like this. They seep into our lives everywhere, when least expected.

Pre- and Perinatal Templates for Life

Losing my computer for a few days reminds me somatically of losing my twin a few weeks after conception. I feel as if a death has occurred. I long for my twin to return. Something in me knows that nothing will ever be the same again, even while my adult self can reassure me that my computer will come home again in a functional state or that Apple will replace it with a new one. In time, this incident will be nothing but a memory. It will affect me though. I will never again forget to back up my data before an update.

In life, I make it a point to stay up to date in my relationships. I tell my husband I love him, because it’s true. If something were to happen to him, I don’t want it to happen without him having experienced me expressing my love. The death of my twin in the womb echoes in my relationships, always reminding me of the possibility of loss. We never know when something devastating might happen. When might that horrible black circle with the diagonal line appear again?

The good news is that we can support our inner little ones and the little ones coming into the world with our increasing awareness of these kinds of dynamics. I greet my new granddaughter, speaking to her softly, listening and reflecting as she readily tells me her birth story through her body. I firmly believe even this little bit of story telling can support her health and well-being for years to come. I believe this based on what I have seen and heard with so many clients, students and colleagues in the field of Pre- and Perinatal Psychology.

With education and awareness, we can support new parents, birth attendants, medical staff, etc. in being more prepared for birth, in treating little ones with the respect, pacing, and empathetic reflection they need. In the process, we birth a new world. Perhaps in that new world, attachment to computers can take a back seat to those with the amazing humans surrounding us.