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...
Sometimes love is Oxygen You don’t know it is there Because it has never Been gone Love was Saturday morning Hair tangled In my sister’s Beside me On the bed Sun streams Through the window Dust glitters And dances in the light At the smell of sausages And the sound of my mother’s Gentle voice I was beautiful Because I was alive Love was A candle That went unnoticed In a room full Of light *** Sometimes love is A silhouette of hope Drifting on black wings Away, far away From me Love was Try harder; pray more Be worthy To exist But ever falling, ever sinking Buried. Darkness, underground Then slowly fading…fading Deep away From the air and sun and light And from the birds The birds Wheeling, rising Free I was beautiful “If” and “but”--the fine print ever changing Love was An ember Shielded in the dark Craving flame *** Sometimes love is The rising sun I’ve known the darkness And I’ve seen The morning come Love is Sunday morning Laughing voices Cof...