granny midwife

I had something to write about earlier at the creek. It’s escaped me and left me staring at this keyboard. Which, let’s face it, beats the evening mommy-do list…so stare I shall.

I had an adult dream about Travis Kelce last night and am now remembering when the woman I stayed with in Maui said, “who?” when I said, “I listen to Taylor Swift when I’m cruising!”

Was happy to see Travis for a change because 5 nights out of 7, I am going to dream that my middle school first-kiss-broke-up-with-me-on-valentines-day ex desperately wants me back. Same plot, different dream for the last 17 years. The 13 y/o psyche will not move on. And so it goes, I reject him with an “aw, there-there…I’m *happily* married, so sorry…” and bid him a farewell ‘till the next night.

Can’t believe I’m gonna put this on the internet.

Michael is laying beside me watching youtube…something about Smart Money Reversal and Bullish SMTs…gibberish noise. He’s starting a channel for his trading monologues. I want his brand identity to be “Booty Chihuahua Trading” because my youngest sister has called him Booty Chihuahua her whole life (18 years). And because Michael Pitts is the furthest thing from the Scott Disick/Paris Hilton energy of both the words - booty and chihuahua. Plus, is anything more mind-numbing than stock market jargon?? The channel deserves some spice.

His vote is for “Michael Trades.” I can’t.

A client from my hometown gave birth this weekend. It’s precious to serve women I went to high school with. I owe her older brother like $250 in quarters for supporting my “lunch from a vending machine” addiction Sophomore year. Small town nostalgia coming in hot.

It felt once in a lifetime witnessing her bring a surprise baby girl to earth. This birth was different. I always view women as my teacher during our time together. But this birth really took me there - from concept/vision to feeling/embodiment. She was the guide, the muse, the one I witnessed to glean from as she drew from the ancient wells of surrender and the descent of death/birth.

I was in tears as I left her house postpartum expanding that thought. How “once in a lifetime” everything is. Specifically, this season of my midwifery work.

Majority of my clients are in my age group and woman archetype. We are quite literally becoming mothers together. They don’t choose me as their midwife because they want that “elderly touch” of the generation before them. The mother/daughter dynamic is absent. Instead the dynamic is sisterly. We lock arms as pioneers to the New/Ancient Way of Birth and become soul-sisters through midwifery. Next thing you know we are on playdates together swooning over our toddlers that never let us sleep. It’s a gift and I am leaning into it more than ever knowing the seasons are fleeting.

Soon enough, I’ll have my last baby. I’ll raise them, turn gray, and the birthing generation will lie within my Johnny Love.

Thinking of serving my daughters generation. Hell, my grand-daughters. Granny midwife status. What a life!

I rewind to how it all fell into place nearly a decade ago. Nursing school drop out turned doula-with-no-kids surrounded by women blind to feminine physiology in a state hostile to natural birth. HIRE ME. No one would. 6 months later, I forced myself on a friend-of-a-friend’s sister-n-law and was set to attend their birth at Kennestone pro-bono. I modeled birth positions on her apartment floor while her unsupportive fiancé played Fortnite in the bedroom. They never called me for The 3 Day Induction Turned Cesarean. I was devastated. I really thought my birth ball was gonna save the day.

They’re divorced now.

But being in McRoberts on her carpet led me to the Next Thing. I googled “Acia Bowls” near her apartment and found a food truck specializing in kale juice. The owner (hey Rachel, ilysm) saw my license plate and asked why I was 2 hours away from home. I gave a sad spill about being an unemployed doula in the boondocks. She lit up.

“I had a doula at my home birth with Debbie Schneider.”

Spoken like a creed.

I was told home birth was illegal from everyone I’d met thus far in the birthing community. What, how, why? Get me in touch with this Debbie.

She did. I sent an email asking to shake her hand. Hoping to connect and maybe get a *paying* doula client.

“We could schedule you an interview for an apprenticeship if you are interested becoming a midwife? Are you free Tuesday?”

Ok then.

That was a Thursday. I was so fucking nervous for the interview. All I knew of birth was a hyper-medicalized doula training and the hospital. I went to the Gap. Got a blue striped button up and khakis to look professional LOL.

Michael was all -
~Since when do you want to be a midwife?
~Why is their an interview?
~This isn’t a job babe. This is a scam!!
~Where is the school?
~Does it take FASFA?
~How much money is this gonna cost?
~This is illegal babe!!!!!!!!!!!

Idk idk idk idk. I gotta go.

Tuesday arrived. I secretly borrowed my sisters Mary Jane Suede Flats and made the trek to Acworth. I walked into the home-office and realized instantly I was horribly overdressed. These women were THE granny midwives I never knew existed - barefoot in wool socks, knitting, and sipping rosehip tea surrounded by clay birth statues and paper mache yonis.

I told the truth.

“I know nothing, but this feels right.”

Then got the gig and never looked back. Feeling nostalgic about this journey.

SO MUCH GRATITUDE

Midwifery like “my midwifery” was not on my radar until I was living breathing bathing in it. In hindsight, I see all the clues. I was always the last one to fall asleep at sleepovers. I went bungee jumping in PCB for my 10th birthday. I was never cut out for a normal job. I needed the thrill, the spontaneity, the in-your-face Divinity, the heights and depths that only Birth can bring. But I was blinded in the present and never knew where my gut decisions were tangibly leading me. Thank you, Gut!

Illegal traditional midwifery at home with my soul-sisters!!

Granny midwife in the making - nothing short of a revolution.

Still living breathing bathing in it and blinded by the present.

I wouldn’t have it another way.

XX