I know this lady. She's pretty fantastic.
She's known to most as I Want A Dumpster Baby. To me, she's Katy.
I've never actually met her in person, but we've connected in this strange and magnificent online world. She gets me. I get her. Maybe more than most people do, for the reasons that we share only with one another.
She's about to become something she's wanted to be for so long that my heart is ready to burst with happiness for her.
She's about to become a mom.
And she didn't even have to fish a baby out of a dumpster.
I get a little teary and sentimental when any of my friends has a baby, just part of who I am. As a doula, I think this tendency of mine is magnified even more.
I'm drawn to women in labor like a moth to a flame.
The anticipation. The unknown. The nerves.
The rhythm of labor, when it comes and washes over your body. When instinct drives you to water, to rocking, to going deep inside yourself. To whatever you need to do right now.
Though I can't be with you tomorrow in person, I want you to know that I'm holding your hand from here. I'm cheering you on. I'm rubbing your back. I'm whispering in your ear how you are strong and beautiful and capable. I'm telling you that you can do this. I'm reassuring you that you can trust your body to know what to do.
I'm holding back tears and holding my breath with you as we sit in the hushed silence waiting for the first cry. Then waiting again.
Katy, my friend, have a beautiful labor.
Keep those babies all to yourself, in your own little space for as long as you need.
Hall & Oates.
Their adoring public can wait. Honest.
I love you.
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