We get double scoops of ice cream, just because we can To taste it on our tongues for longer we say To celebrate tracing paths of stars Laying on our backs on Lookout Rock Surrounded by fireflies And the possibility of magic Mother & daughter No bedtimes now And only double scoops We dish the tea with our morning coffee Trading tastes of past sorrows and new sunshine The old rules slink out the back door As we stretch our limbs, svelte and luxurious In new skins that fit us better now And order tarts before salad Mother & daughter Dessert before lunch And only nuances now We spend a whole day doing the nothings Enshrined in shared cells and a thousand memories Hunting through stacks of old books And chatting with white-haired ladies selling clunky jewelry At the thrift store down the street We barely noticed we crossed a bridge of twenty-two years On the way home Mother & daughter Twenty-two years apart And now we’re friends
As a midwife, one of the things people most often say to me is "you're so lucky: you get to play with babies every day". Of course this brings to mind visions of what this "play" actually looks like--moans, sweat, and always so much blood. And yes, in the end I sometimes do get to run a finger over a soft, downy baby head while the mother basks in her oxytocin-glow of victory. But if all goes to plan, my interaction with babies rarely goes much beyond that. If you are a midwife, who you really love is women . I have been a woman for over forty-six years now, I have four sisters and three daughters, and have worked with women and heard their stories for twenty-five years. And today I want to tell you something I have learned about women: Women rise. They do. They can get out of a bloody birth pool, rinse the sweat off, laugh, and nurse their newborn. They heal their bruises, find a way out of the abuse, and start a new life. They c...