Baby Justice aka birth 60-something

I’m feeling it intensely, even in this sleepless stupor.  Even in this churning and bubbling cauldron of a stomach that hasn’t eaten a proper meal in over 24 hours.   Feeling it so much, and it’s more multi-layered than you can imagine, so much more to it than just…

a baby slipped out of her mama’s center into my hands this morning

There’s deepness to this story that cannot be told now, more than just…

how I watched her obsidian hair floating in her bulging bag of waters as her head emerged

My eyes can barely focus on these letters that I type and yet I have to tell you that, in that moment, I was pleasantly proud that I cooed to her:

Reach down and feel your baby’s head

(I’ve learned from the best of them)

and, as I floated baby’s dusky pink body up from the water, grinned and called out with a gentle ferocity (though in my mind, I probably said it with Jazz Hands!):

Take your baby

Take your baby

and her arms outstretched before I even said it and brought her first born baby to her chest

and that Justice’s eyes were as gleaming as the Big Dipper that hung over her skies like a holiday ornament the evening I walked into her quiet home.

Perhaps I was too giddy, to worried about messing it all up, too enthralled with the luminescent bag of waters, too caught up in her not losing too much blood, too harried to cut the fan, too intent on keeping the baby warm, warm, warm in the warm, warm, warm birth pool.  My inner critic can be relentless and nit-picky and I don’t do relentless and nit-picky too well unless it’s foraging for the perfect jagged piece of chocolate or that one spot-on metaphor that eludes me.

But I remembered the warm towels on the baby and the cute green hat on the head!

Loving, professional help arrived less than 5 minutes after baby was born and all was well.

And so now I just say HELL YEAH!


The gift was in her taking, not in my giving.  A prayer.  An offering of spiraling and circular love.

The humbling part is not that baby allowed me to greet her with open palms under a sea of fluid and blood

Or that I happened to be in that very spot at that very moment

But that I was not necessary.

(my fear lies in being necessary)

I was a conduit.  Electrified, no less.  But not necessary.  A bridge.  A creaky, wooden plank bridge unsure of my frayed ropes and rogue metal nails gone awry.

And to feel the weight of someone atop me, their breath slow and steady and brand new;  to feel me carry them for two fleeting moments, from








well, there’s just so much more to that then you can imagine.


11 Comments Add yours

  1. janistan says:

    Yet another gorgeous, breath-taking post, sweet. love ya. xo

  2. marinah says:

    Maybe not needed, but isn’t it so nice to be chosen?

  3. Sarah says:

    Perfect, just what that baby needed and was meant to be. Love

  4. Ninotchka says:

    You gorgeous woman, you. “Reach down and feel your baby’s head…” Ahhhh, I could hear my own doula’s voice uttering the same words to me. Such beautiful, powerful words. Thank you for the reminder. I celebrate with you, sister!

  5. Rebekah says:

    I’d forgotten how thankful one would be to NOT be needed at a birth! And i know NO woman forgets any of her births, but I have to think that birth will be burned into that mama’s heart and soul in a special way. To birth your first baby, at HOME, into a doula-friend’s hands? There are no words for that. Well, maybe … magical?

  6. Jen says:

    #25… DONE! Love you, Leigh. This is so big.

  7. mb says:

    oh and damn that sounds rather fucking transformational. meaning—nobody will be the same. not the mama. not the baby. not even you. the question is… will they choose to transform. blessings dear justice may your name vibrate through the land.

  8. Brooke says:

    I agree with MB. The world is new each and every time.
    This is the beauty of it. And the power. Bless you for being there – with woman, without expectation, in pure love – as they and their babies cross this threshold.

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