As MADE in Europe volunteers prepare to protest outside the UK Parliament this afternoon about the shocking realities for pregnant women in developing countries where one woman dies every minute, new father Joey Shapiro shares his reflections on just how fortunate we are in the developed world...

My son Simon came early. Over a month, in fact. Born on the 21st of August 2010, we had not finished preparing for his arrival, emotionally or logistically.

He came on a Friday night, quite unexpectedly. My wife woke me at 1.30am and knew something wasn't right. In the back of our heads, we knew Simon was on his way, but a month early? It was frightening. Though I did not say it out loud, I knew a premature birth could be a recipe for disaster and needed to steady myself for whatever potential pitfalls lay ahead for all of us.

The birth was easy (as easy as a natural birth can be...easy is not the right word; ask any labouring mother and she will assure you that labour is beyond difficult). My amazing wife laboured for less than seven hours, and out he came, beautiful and bellowing to announce to the world his arrival.

But he was early and he was small and the doctors didn't want to take any chances. So he was put in the intensive care unit, just to make certain he was fully developed. Precautionary, they told us, but still. I was frightened the first time we entered the intensive care unit to see him. I had expected a morbid place, with the chill of parents expecting the worst for their underdeveloped neonates hooked up to blinking and beeping machines, tubes everywhere.

But it was the opposite. The unit in the hospital in which Simon was delivered was set up as a place of warmth and comfort. The hallways were clean and bright, the staff upbeat and optimistic and friendly. The environment was an entirely nurturing one, and not once did I ever doubt that Simon was receiving the best care possible and would come home with us at the soonest moment possible.

Simon spent six days in intensive care. Every day, we came in the morning to feed him at 8am and stayed into the evening. As we walked the halls in the intensive care unit (and the rest of the beautifully appointed, luxury hotel of a hospital) throughout the week, I often thought about how lucky we were to have such care and amenities at our disposal; that our son, though a month early, was receiving the best care possible and would no doubt survive; how privileged that made us and how lucky we were, as an accident of our births, to live where and when we did that we were able to provide for little Simon in this way.

And, immediately in those moments, I often thought about the time I had spent in Tanzania not one year earlier. In the towns of Ifakara and Bagamoyo, in decrepit maternity wards and makeshift hospital wings, I met new and expectant mothers not receiving even a fraction of the care that my wife and Simon had. How would Simon and his mother fare in such a setting, arriving a month early? Why did we deserve the care and support we received and the mothers and children in the wards in Tanzania not? Doesn't every mother and child deserve a fighting chance to be born in safety?

Simon arrived in advance of the Jewish High Holidays. On Rosh HaShana, the Jewish New Year, we prayer together the prayer Una Tanetokef, which includes a line that asks, "who will be born this year and who will die?" My mother-in-law, over a festive family meal, observed how she was thinking that, in retrospect, she realised that very line a year before in fact referred to Simon who could not wait until after Rosh HaShana to be born. And though I found the thought heartwarming, my mind was drawn back to Ifakara and Bagamoyo. Who would die this year? And why can't we live in a world where child and maternal health are enough of a priority that we don't need to wonder if a baby born this year in the global south will also be one of the souls that dies, too?

As Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement begins this evening, I will be taking stock of my life and my year. I know I'll be thinking about my son and praying thankfully for his early yet safe arrival. But I will also be thinking about all those mothers and children that don't have the access to the same quality of care Simon received and praying for a world in which the birth of a child can be a happy occasion rather a traumatic event for everyone.

By Joey Shapiro