Feeling poetic - the birth space

There must be a faint reassurance in the unfailing nature of my complete failure to update my blog on a semi regular basis. As I said in my last post, babies continue to be born, life goes on! I'm feeling vaguely poetic this evening so here is a little reflection on birthing for you.

So, nearly six months have passed since I last wrote. I upped my shifts at the hospital and generally did 3-4 short shifts per week until August when Kev was back in regular work. 

I now tend to do one short shift per week on a weekend and am fortunate enough to be able to continue to give care and 'love' in the way I know best. 

Just last weekend, a beautiful slippery warm baby was born into my waiting hands and I can tell you there is no feeling like it on earth. 

I look at these babies and feel absolute awe at the wonder of life and creation, and the strength and resilience of the women birthing them. Sometimes they open their eyes mid-birth, peering out past squashed chubby cheeks and blowing little bubbles at me. Unfocused eyes look around as they are caught briefly between two worlds. I sometimes imagine that they catch my eye and I reassure them with a prayer that it's ok, they are wanted and loved. Then with a little wriggle they make their final entrance and my own hands guide them into their parents hands.

I like to keep a quiet and reflective birth room, I'm not particularly a cheerleading midwife. Believe me when I tell you that every birthing room will bear the signature, one way or another, of the midwife leading the care. It's like a fingerprint and I find it fascinating. 

It's not to say that the room is silent, or that I don't encourage verbally, because I do... But when the baby is being born there is this moment when the mother sees her baby and feels them for the first time and it's pretty sacred I reckon. I notice that babies are often quiet when born into a quiet room. It's like they are listening for something and if you are quiet then you'll get to hear mothers first words and it's nearly always something like "my baby" or "baby baby". To me that feels like their first lullaby that they hear on the outside. The voice they've heard from the inside, muffled and echoey, is suddenly clear, close, known and reassuring. 

I want the parents to remember that first moment of calm, of welcoming their baby. The sense of relief and even the sudden suspension of pain is overwhelming. Birthing work demands involvement of all the senses and part of the midwifes role is to have an awareness of that and protect the space for the womans own sense of her achievement to expand and fill that space. Because the space is hers and not mine. My reward is genuinely getting the chance to observe that moment.

My credentials for writing like this comes from my rollercoaster of a ride I've taken with midwifery, experiencing the exquisite highs and the devastating lows as well as the crazy, dramatic twists and turns in between. So call me a hopeless birthy romantic but I hope what I've written about speaks to you in some way.