birth

For February 12th:

I saw another human being come into the world last night. I've seen it well over a hundred times and every time I am amazed. The scene of a birth is charged with strength and vulnerability. It is miraculous and ordinary. Mysterious. Powerful. Holy.

A tribute to Joanna, A welcome for Eleanor:

A woman in labour is a rock opera and a delicate tune hummed under your breath. She is warrior, samuri, superhero, and she is still, still, still. She is quietly dancing in the timeless rhythm of birth, dancing in the face of fear and pain. She dances with her arms wide, outstretched at her sides-- welcoming the force of the contraction, reaching for strength, cradling space in her arms, thinking only of holding her child. Soon.

The waves wash in, nearly overwhelming, and the waters break, and then two truly overwhelming surges bring the baby down and out. The baby arrives wide-eyed in wonder at the noise and lights of this bright world although the attic bedroom is, in fact, dim and dark and quiet. Soon she's tucked in next to her mother, close again to the heartbeat called home, nursing, and making content noises, chattering in her newborn way about how good it is to be here.

How good indeed.