On Mothering Sunday, one working mother reflects on coping with babies in a ‘middle-class tenement’ and on the broken promise that is modern Ireland
At East e r 1916, you could hear the boom of British guns firing at the GPO from Dublin’s Rotunda hospital.
On October 7, 2010, it’s quite possible that the lowing of a woman in labour in the Rotunda was also heard all the way down at the post office.
The midwife orders ‘‘no shouting’’ - and I am indignant but embarrassed into giving up my only defence against the onslaught of childbirth. From...
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