"I actually hope you don’t remember my name. I was your midwife and I’ve always thought that, if I did my job well, then you would only remember how amazing YOU were when it was time to birth your baby
Birth is hard work and I hate how our culture presents it as a nice, tidy little inconvenience.
But you went against that cultural norm and chose to birth your baby with the help of a midwife, with all of the pain, bodily fluids, doubt, and triumph that come along with choosing that path.
You were beautiful. I know, I know … you hadn’t showered for two days and you threw up six times … but when you got to 8cm, there was a beautiful glow in your cheeks. … and beads of sweat on your lip. I put a cool washcloth on your forehead, knowing that you were near holding your baby, knowing that there might still be a ton of work to do, and knowing that every moment would be worth it for you.
You frantically looked around and gasped “I can’t do this anymore.”
And I looked you in the eye and said, “You can do this. You are doing this. Don’t be afraid!”
And you believed me, as well you should have, because I was telling you the truth."
