sort of unbelieveable.

the sheer number of intense hours – brain-stuffed, lip-chewed, fingers slippery with anxiety, heart tripping from rending exhilaration to agonizing dances with patience.

the babies – mostly-fat, always hot. Squelching in their other-worldiness. Holding my breath with theirs as they dangled on the perineal precipe of life.

the teacher-midwives – the ones with faces of faith (when I burst not one, but two mid-semester pregnancies into their carefully planned schedules), of calm, of passion. The ones I cried to and cried with through every strange hour of the night. The ones that stood behind and held me forward – guiding my hands, needle, heart with their steadiness.

my friends – who showered me with every imaginable provision of love and care. For nodding encouragement into my dream-whispers at the very beginning and the very end. For holding me in a vast and beautiful web of love – feeding me, housing me, loving my children. For the countless hours and travel-miles and even breastmilk they shared willingly and easily.

my family – who overcame their skepticism (what’s a midwife?), mostly bank-rolled the operation and always made sure I knew they cared.

my babies – for showing me the unfathomable depths of richness in life. Who knew you could just make beautiful little people?

the lovely daddy – for not knowing what he was getting into, but getting in anyway – whole heartedly, without reserve and with seeming preternatural calmness.

and, of course -

the women – for being infinitely generous in letting me learn to be with them.

this is for all of you.

 thank you

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