Many people say you are born alone and you die alone. I think that is terribly inaccurate. You may die alone. But you are definitely not born alone. You are born at precisely the same time that your mother gives birth to you. Her body and your body are intertwined.
Your mother does not passively lie down, while you push, squeeze and bang your way into this world. She is working with you. She is pressing, her pelvis is opening, her vagina is squeezing you. She is full of sweat and tears and nasty words for your father. You and your mother are in this together, deeply and equally.
Eventually you are ripped apart from each other. The umbilical cord is sliced. Your warm, dark, watery placenta is gone, replaced with dry air, glaring lights and often cold metal instruments. Hopefully you are quickly laid on your mother’s belly, skin to skin, to give you some small sense of comfort. It is a poor replacement for that cosy dark womb, but it is the only thing she can offer you.
No, you are not born alone. Your mother is there, supposedly to guide you on your journey. In reality she is often just as scared, confused and helpless as you are. Welcome to our square, boxed world little baby.