After-Birth (Expressions of a Grateful Doula)

Janet Field, Hypno-Doula
December 1, 2006 – Sara’s Birthday

There is no more serene Bubble in Time than the glow of joyful, peaceful After-Birth. Mother and infant embraced in a womb of pure love. Partner holding both, kissing them with tears. Eyes searching each others’, drinking in this first moment – virgin companions on a journey for a lifetime. Skin-to-skin in quiet, respectful worship of the miracle of new life.

And I sink back in silence, often tears, to just watch – my work finished as a new family takes form. Observing the fruits of the labor – human life shaped before our eyes. So far beyond comprehension as the room fairly explodes with the appearance of this new little body, spirit, life. Her first sounds – perhaps a gentle, curious whimper, perhaps a defiant, gusty cry – beginning a lifetime as yet uncharted – or is it already laid out in full unbeknownst to any of us?

This sacred moment still, today – and always – cannot be sullied by any inventions of man. The speechless emerging of tender life from the body of another tender life. Visceral. Punctuated by the quiet sounds of birth - as it has always been. The unmistakable phenomenon of lives knitting together for the first time. Air thick with the scents of birth – pungent, earthy. A mother’s joy, a partner’s awe, a baby’s senses flooded with newness – new sounds, cool air on fresh skin, eyes seeing the world for the first time, seeking out her parents’ voices, fiercely known already after 9 months of intimate togetherness. Baby-soft skin caressed – the first touch of human hands.

After-Birth. The greatest gift of all. Who? Who am I that I am invited into this most precious time? To offer my hands, my heart, my touch, my quiet voice of confidence and encouragement to a woman stretching beyond the bounds of her own imagination, her own body. How am I so very graced to be trusted and held onto as a human life bursts into the world from the very core of her mother? How am I this blessed?

I sit in the serenity of my mountain home in the woods. Watching the snow fly by in easy puffs, birds at the feeders.

Silence.

Images, words, recollections of last night’s journey of mother and child sifting through me - floating by me in easy puffs like the snow. There are no words for the miracle before our eyes. There are no words for my gratitude.

And in the magenta sunrise glow of the After-Birth, I breathe deeply.

Peace.

And strive to grasp the splendor. My life woven rich with the labors of each courageous mother, the emergence of each perfect new baby, and cleansed by the tears of each grateful partner. Who am I to be this blessed?