First Heard

On Friday I had my first midwife appointment. We're in the middle of trying to set up a home birth, but the insurance company wants to dance a waltz or two before they'll cover it. Until the music stops, I'll be seeing the hospital midwife who signed me and a dark-haired babe out of the hospital five and a half years ago. I'm seventeen weeks along, so I hope paperwork speeds through.

No matter how many times I hear it, the sound of another rhythm inside me makes my eyes widen. The whoosh and rapid whumpita of a small heart, an allegro sound below my slow and steady beat, awes me every time. Knowledge of a baby doesn't always equal Knowing, but with that sound echoing in my ears, I find myself murmuring love to one whose previous place in my busy days was primarily that of a Very Chubby Belly. My knowing of this little one is heightened by the sudden movement that now catches me unawares, like hiccoughs in the night. There's such an intense strength bound up in the fragile forms of babies-- so restless and lively and new; their constant movement speaks it though they cannot.

Brand spankin' new.
In the truest sense of the word, it's an awesome thing.