Bremé Palpatine could not, by any stretch, be called a "strong woman." Everything she did, right down to breathing, was done with her husband's foreknowledge and permission. Her son Sheev, being born right then, was conceived and carried with Cosinga's approval, it was Cosinga who had selected and purchased the nanny droid. Her whole life revolved solely around pleasing the man currently waiting a few rooms away.

But when the tiny silent baby was laid into her arms, and she looked down into the pale face and blue eyes just like her own, a sensation utterly alien flooded the new mother, a foreign emotion she'd never before had occasion to feel. The two stared at each other, rapt, not even noticing the nurse exiting or returning with Cosinga, until an outraged voice spoke over Bremé's head. "What's wrong with him? Why is he so small? Why is he yellow?"

"Jaundice," the nurse replied, too unfamiliar with the petty Naboo nobleman to know to be timid. "It's common, but with the low birth weight and short length he may always be more delicate than other children."

Cosinga looked at his offspring with distaste. "We'll put him up for adoption," he declared dismissively. "I cannot have a sickly weakling as an heir."

"No." The word was quiet, and final, as Bremé finally looked up from her son to her husband, whose jaw was agape at his meek wife's disagreement.

"What did you say?" he demanded, incredulous. Never before had she contradicted him, and he couldn't believe she'd actually done so now.

"No," she repeated. "He is my son, and I love him. We're not getting rid of him, just because he may not be as strong as others. We're not getting rid of him, period."

A small part of Bremé wondered at her own daring, the calm rebuttal of her husband's callous announcement. It had been the easiest thing in the world, that single word, that refusal, where it had always been impossible. For the first time in her life, the sight of his face going purple as he swelled with rage didn't fill her with terror. She simply rocked her son a little and waited for the explosion, serene and immovable. She couldn't be strong for herself, but for little Sheev? She could move mountains.

Should you ask anyone who knows me - my family, my in-laws, my former co-workers - they will tell you that throughout the pregnancy, I would've done anything for my unborn son, fought and killed to protect him. But the way I loved him before he was born was nothing on what I felt the first time I saw him, held up for a second for me and my husband to see him before he was whisked off to be checked (he was born via semi-emergency C-section.) And that had nothing on what I felt when my six-pound infant son was laid in my arms for the first time nearly forty minutes after his birth. Had Satan himself had the bad sense to come into the recovery room and threaten my baby, I would've gotten up and kicked his sorry butt to Jupiter.

Later I got to thinking... if there is anything that will turn a weak woman into a strong one, it is motherhood. When you're handed that tiny precious bundle of life, nothing else in the world matters as much as they do. I never had any respect for Palpatine's mother. Now I find her totally unbelievable. Protecting the baby, loving them, is paramount.