I had just finished throwing up for the first time (not the last) into a handful of paper towels when the midwife walked in.
“I’m sorry. I threw up” I said to her, although that would have been pretty obvious from the vomit covering my t-shirt and bed sheets (paper towels not being particularly appropriate for the task). She smiled and told me not to worry, they saw it all the time.
The truth was I was so entirely relieved to see her face that I would have thrown away even more of my dignity to ensure it. This was the midwife who’d led our prenatal classes, who’d been so kind when the tears came unbidden during one of them and my fear tumbled out in mixed up words. I’d come home that day and dared to pray what I so hoped for – that she might be on shift when my time came.
And then there she was, walking in to our delivery room minutes after we’d arrived, my contractions already strong and frequent. It felt like answered prayer. It felt like a whispered assurance from the Spirit that She was there, that She was in this with Rasmus and I and our unborn baby, that we’d be ok.
This is the first time I’ve found the words to write about one aspect of Kaya’s birth (can you believe she’s two months already?!). I’m sharing our experience over at SheLoves today. Will you join me over there for the rest of the story?