I come in the room with my ready hands. You are tired, your body sagging with fatigue, bathed in the sweat of your long day's work. Your lids are closed, your mouth open slightly as you inhale and exhale in a most efficient fashion. I reach out my hand and touch you. You look up and smile. And sink back into yourself as the next wave comes over you. I settle down on my haunches, and watch you labor. Watch you work. Watch you move toward motherhood. My breathing matches yours. I hum with your vocalizations. Massage your tense muscles. Soften the fear, strengthen the faith. This is my calling, to be here with you. You do this hard birthing work, and I sit with you, next to your family, your friends, your lover, and hold tight to my belief in you. To my belief in birth. I honor your strength, applaud your hard work, encourage you in those moments of despair. I listen to your baby and remind you that he is strong too, and is a part of this voyage. My midwife arms support you, my midwife eyes are vigilant, my midwife soul accompanies you. And finally, my midwife hands catch your baby and hold him on your belly, in that precious moment when you become a mother.

midnight midwife blues

I have been through the slow cervical dilation with you. You have moaned in my ear. We have walked the halls, rocked on chairs, and squatted on the floor together. Your focus has moved from me (am I doing this right?) to your partner (we can do this) to someplace deep within yourself. To a place I cannot go with you. I am your midwife. I sit by your side, and hold your hand. I accompany you on this journey, but you are the traveller. You lead the way.
And now, after long hours of daylight, and longer hours of night, we are still on this journey together. Your body rhythm helps you sleep a deep sleep between the hard working contractions. And during the peak of those contractions, you remain in your hypnotic trance.
I, on the other hand, am here, awake, exhausted, committed, but with heavy lids, and an aching body. I promise I will not leave. But I cannot promise to not to creak as I stretch my legs under your chair, one at a time, so I do not jostle your perfect calm.
In another hour, the first blue light of dawn will bring us all new faith that the birth is near. But for now, I am your midwife, gently holding your hand, and tenderly guarding the faith that this baby is worth this long, sleepless night.