the midwives

One of my friends has admitted that when I refer to the (three) midwives she can’t help but picture the opening scene of Macbeth - Boil boil toil and trouble! I have to remember to tell them that; they’d think it was very funny.

The midwives were/are so great. Literally spoon-feeding me after I gave birth, coming to the rescue when panic sets in, spending hours telling me everything is all right. There are no more scheduled visits until Isaac is six weeks. Of course I can call, but…There are other babies set to arrive. We have to recede into our own lives. The moments of terror can be blinding.

At one of the follow up visits with the midwives, they are gathered around my bed just as they were when I delivered Isaac. They are listening while I still marvel aloud at the work involved, not just in care, but in labor and in recovery. I feel gutted. And then, after the nipple cracks heal and sleep returns to normal – maybe decades from now, light years - I will be left to raise a boy in this world. It’s all huge. Pam nods. "That’s why women are opposed to war," she says softly, "they know what it takes to make a person."