When I was pregnant I used to complain about the injustice of human infants - other animals give birth to walking talking offspring. Take the Giraffe. They give birth standing up, the baby giraffe plops onto the ground, shakes itself off and boom - is off running with her mom. Where as we humans give birth to a very rudimentary version of ourselves. Half baked if you will. A little being that cannot survive on its own.
But now I understand why. The shock of going from feeling her inside me for the last 6 or so months of the gestation period to her living on the outside is already so great. Feeling her drift to sleep when I walked to work, or kick my side quickly when I spent too long in bed, or her little punches when I ate something that she didn't like. And then all of a sudden she's out. And she's breathing and pooping and crying all by herself. And I am so grateful that I get to spend hours of my day with her held against my stomach, her little mouth tightly around my breast. Or that she needs me to rock her to sleep when she's feeling fussy. Or that it is my job to keep her clean and bathe her and entertain her.
Because if she came out of me with the ability to walk away it would break my heart.