michelle-and-ruby.jpgThe snowflakes that fell on January 24, 2008 were so small they looked like glitter when the sun caught them-these are the details that come into sharp focus on the day that someone is born.

Because of the amazing digital technology of telephones these days, I know that at 8:50 a.m. of this day, I got the call-"Today's the day." Immediately my eyes smarted (today's the day!), and I braced myself-I was "on call" now. I was the "big sister doula," the person that takes care of the older child while their sibling is being born. This would be the third time I would get to witness a birth, not just through my own eyes but also through the eyes of a three year old.

At 11:21 a.m., I received the second phone call, lasting 18 seconds, telling me it was time to pick Astrid (the big sister) up for school and come home with her in order to be there for the birth of her younger sister, at their home. In this role, my job is to be firmly in the world of the child as their family transforms, expands. I take this role seriously, to protect the integrity of this major event and also because children respond very well to undivided attention. For this birth, however, I found myself drawn toward the sounds of this child making her way into the world again and again. What follows is the dual reality I found myself in: Astrid's and mine as we ate lunch, waited (not for very long!), and listened to the deep involuntary sounds of labor.

Astrid: "Kitty just ran out of there! She said, ‘Too much ruckus!'  Silly Kitty (laugh) Too much ruckus! (laugh) That one sounded like a horse. (pause) That one a dog. (pause) Oh, that one's a cow."

Me: Those are the most honest, amazing, deep, beautiful sounds I had ever heard. These are not sounds you will ever hear in any other situation. God, what a privilege to hear them. I'm so lucky. I can't believe so many people never have this experience. This is the story of going to the deepest places of the body to find the will to bear birth. "Do you want to go in and see the birth?"

Astrid:  "No, I want to go meet the baby after she is born. What is this? Can I have this yogurt? Mmmmm. I like this yogurt."

Me: "Mmmm, looks good. Your mom's doing a good job in there," (trying not to cry). "Are we going to make some necklaces later?"

Astrid: "Yes! You know what? My teachers know how to sing ‘Oh my darlin'!"

Me: "They do! That's great. Oh! Your Mom is calling us!"

We left our food and went into the living room at the very moment that Astrid's baby sister was lifted into her mother's arms by her father who had just caught her, with the help of the two midwives. I can't say what it was like for Astrid, but for me walking into the room was like walking into a brick wall emotion. My eyes and chest and throat crumpled immediately, and as I looked around, I saw the feeling mirrored perfectly in everyone else's face in the room. Whoosh!-the child slides in to the world-the father's face! the mother's face! my face, crumpled in tears.

Me: I will never forget the look on his (the dad's) face. What a moment. Look at that baby. Were mine ever that small?

Astrid: "Look at her small hand! She's so cute! (pause)  I'm still quite a bit hungry."

We went directly back to the kitchen and sat down. She ate her sandwich, wanted some mustard. She wanted to know what else I brought in my bag for her. I pulled out a light stick. We opened it up and cracked it into pink glowing life. Here, I'm a little ashamed to admit, is when she went back to her mother, holding her newborn infant in the first five minutes of her life, and said, "Mom! Look! I have a glow stick!" Her mother, of course, said, "Oh! That's great!" And Astrid came back with me to see what else we could do.

I am proud to report that I have witnessed five births now (okay, two were my own) and always come away from them wondering at the privilege of it. Here we go on about menstruation, but this, this person whooshing into the world, and the shocking love of it, that's what it, all these moon cycles, is all actually about. Whether we choose to flip one of those hundreds of cycles into a being or not, that's what they are about.

- Michelle A.L. Singer

Michelle Singer is a freelance journalist currently living and working in Montpelier, Vermont. Former GladRags employee and menstrual enthusiast, she is also a great lover of books, hiking, and wrestling with the continual confusion of feminism. She lives in a multi-generational home with all her most important fans-her parents, husband and two truly adorable children.