Midwifery Monologues: "Hands"

I sped down the road, dust rising behind me, as the rose-colored moon lit up the pre-dawn sky. It is a struggle getting out of bed before 8am, but when I heard the ringtone that signaled a text from the midwife. I bounced out of bed like a child on Christmas morning. 

It *might* be time. 

I had my teeth brushed and scrubs on, long before the second text giving me the go-ahead to drive out to our client's house. I tried to relax and enjoy the beautiful picture painted as the sunrise replaced the full-moon. It seemed like the drive was never ending, but in actuality, I made it much faster than the go*ogle maps estimated time. 

It was not quite time. 

After breakfast we went our separate ways and I attempted to distract myself. Knitting, napping, a “Little House on the Prairie” marathon, and the phone rang. 

It was time. 

A sweet baby boy, born in an unplanned location in the house, just as the sun set and the waning moon rose, on a crisp spring night to a strong and confident mother; passed from the womb, through the midwife’s hands and into my arms. Slippery and wide-eyed, he greeted the room with a cry of protest. We passed him through the cord to his mama, as his father declared “it’s a boy”. 

Later, as I made a trip out to the car with some of the supplies we no longer needed, I happened to glance up at the sky. The stars were brighter than I had seen in years. The Big Dipper was directly above the house, as if blessings were pouring straight from heaven onto the little house in the woods. 

I paused, breathed deeply and held out my hands. 

Hands that have done both evil and good. 

Hands that have been lifted high in worship and lowered to the ground in pain. 

Hands that have acted out of anger and out of love. 

Hands that have held on and hands that have let go. 

Hands that have scars. 

Hands that have touched the earth in 4 countries. 

Hands that have been timid and confident. 

Hands that are learning how to be patient, yet expectant and ready. Hands that shake in fear, and hands that are strong.

 Hands that had been blessed, long before they began to learn how to catch… 

and I am grateful that I am held by much bigger hands