Twenty-eight years ago, I was woken up by a midwife who took my hand and brought me into my parents' bedroom, where my mom lay reclined on my father, working hard to bring my new sibling Earthside.
At three years old, I stood by my mother's side, caressing her cheek and wiping her brow, telling her that she could do it and that everything was going to be alright.
And I watched the incredible woman before me bring forth the life she created in her belly. They asked if I wanted to cut the cord, and I did, with the midwives help (which I resented a little bit, 'cause I was a big girl).
These memories are some of my earliest, most vivid, and certainly most treasured. And then, late last year, that same sister, no longer tiny and squishy, but now all grown up, and equally beautiful announced her pregnancy and asked me to document the birth day of this baby.
So a little over a month ago, I had the incredible honor to stand again at the side of a woman I cherish and reassure her that she could do this and that all would be okay. My little sister, reclining on her husband, brought forth new life -- with my own mother, as midwife, there to catch baby -- and I was there to capture it all.
A woman birthing, now catching.
A baby born, now birthing.
And me, standing near, holding witness to the immense strength, the incredible love, the loops that life draws.
