around me there is much talk of babies. friends whose bodies are trying to find their baby. babies who almost were but slipped loose. babies who have been recently made and who have nestled in, rooted home in the womb. babies who are almost ready to breathe; pressing on the cervix making everyone wondering when they will exist in our common realm. babies who just forced their way to air serenaded by moans, gasps and screams of their powerful mothers. babies who were stubborn, stuck, or upside down and needed to be plucked out, all at once, from their courageous life source.
the energy surrounding the celebration, grief, anticipation, excitement, and celebration again has got me all caught up- remembering how special, magical, and transformative carrying and birthing babies is, each time no less magical than the last.
i also talk about babies. i talk about how my babies are maturing, becoming the people they are destined to be. i talk about how we are all moving forward, growing up together. i talk about how there will be no restarts for us; it’s all future now.
this is my family and these are my children. this is my fortune.
we are full, complete, and whole. we are done with babies.