31/07/2025
Every birth wraps me up.
Not just for a moment, not just for a shift — but completely.
From the moment I go on call, I feel it: the quiet hum of anticipation, the invisible thread tying me to a family I’ve come to know, to trust, to stand beside. I check my phone more often. I wonder if today will be the day.
And when the call comes — it’s time — I step into their world fully. Into their kitchen, their hospital room, their birth space. Into their story. I’m not just a witness. I’m a part of it.
For hours — sometimes for days — I live inside their rhythm. I breathe with them, cry with them, laugh with them. I read between every line of their body language. I notice the tremble in her hands. The way he tries to stay strong. I move in quiet ways to offer what’s needed — a touch, a sip of water, a reminder to keep going.
In those moments, I belong to them.
Not as family.
Not as friend.
But as someone invited into a once-in-a-lifetime moment, and trusted to hold it with reverence.
And when it’s over — when the baby is here, when the room settles, when everyone is wrapped in blankets and quiet joy — there’s always a shift. I begin to step back. The thread starts to loosen. The story moves on… without me.
But something remains.
Because during that birth, I was part of something sacred.
For a few intense, intimate hours, I became woven into their life.
And even after I leave —
after I return to my own family —
that connection lives in me.
Every birth wraps me up.
And I carry a small piece of it forever 💜
