in which we wait

(and also gamble)

lounging in the autumnal late afternoon sun in between ante-natal visits yesterday my midwife and I scribbled on slips of pink paper who we intuited might be called upon by the moon-pull of the child-bearing tides first. There are eight of them in the next few weeks, and by the next full moon, I will - with all sorts of hope - have seen their slick, new little selves slither, ooze and wrench themselves earthward in the calmess of their home, in the stillness of the hospital right before dawn, in the held-breath-cradle of whatever entrance they choose (and we guard).

but for now we wait, laughing at the little numbers we playfully assign each unique unfolding of events. charging our phones. watchfully moving our hands over bellies writhing with eagerness from within. and being very patient. Because birth always has her own rhythm. We are merely here to hold the space - and let it carry out its dance.