I woke up on a chilly late September morning to find the sunrise glistening off the thick frost that had settled across the yard, covering each blade of grass and fallen leaf. The text had already come through in the early hours of the morning. Labor had started. Contractions were strong and consistent, but not yet close enough together for me to leave. I took out my camera and documented a few shots of the frosty morning with my kids and came back inside to warm up by the wood stove. I continued with my morning, assuming I would have time to shower and maybe even put in a hair mask (oh, the naïveté). The plan for this day was for my husband to come home from work to be with the kids when it was time for me to leave for the birth, thinking that since labor only just started early this morning my client could very likely labor through much of the day before baby's arrival. However, not long after he left the house I received another text: contractions were coming hard and fast and mama was getting the urge to push. I quickly called my husband who was almost to his job site for the day (conveniently, {divinely?} located about 30 minutes north of my client's home). I told him the situation and we agreed that I would meet him just down the road from my clients house where he could take the kids and could go immediately in to the birth. So, with my hair covered in hair oil and slicked up into a bun, I strapped the kids in the car and took off. After a quick exchange with my husband and goodbyes from my own babies, I walked briskly up the steps of their porch. I caught a glimpse of her morning glory teepee and smiled knowing that if it wasn't such a chilly morning I might have found her laboring there.

I could hear mama vocalizing before I even opened the sliding door. My shoes were off and my camera was out in a flash. I followed her cries to the bathroom where I gently pushed open the door to find the midwife and husband attending to my client who was laboring on the toilet. Her vocalizations made it abundantly clear: baby was coming, like now. She moved down to the floor and assumed her position on all fours. She reached for her husbands hand, trying desperately, I think, to draw any strength she possibly could from him- to find grounding somehow when she felt, perhaps, like she had no control.. But all the strength she needed she had within in her all along. Her face said that she couldn't do it any longer and she cried and moaned through the contractions. Baby was crowning and mama was mustering all that she had to bring her baby into the world. After only a few pushes, her baby was released from her body into the caring hands of her midwife who carefully lifted the tiny body up to mama.

The intensity of that moment lives rent free in my mind to this day. The most amazing culmination of work, sweat, and tears for this baby who was loved from its very conception-- now here beneath its mother who cradled her (a beautiful baby girl) beneath her, pulling her close as she cried joyful, guttural tears of love and relief. "We did it, we did it. I love you so much." The midwife happily attended to mom. Dad lovingly gazed with admiration at his brilliantly beautiful wife and baby with tears in his eyes. Together the two of them took her in-- every finger and toe, eyelash and dimple. Neither were in any rush whatsoever, which is something I think 4th time parents are particularly good at.

We all know that women, and moms especially are strong. That strength is on full display during labor and birth, even though that's often when we feel weak. But as if that isn't enough we carry on, marching straight into those postpartum moments that try us to our very souls. There, on the floor of that bathroom, with blood stained legs, this mother pulled her baby close to her breast to nurse, unconcerned with anything but the needs of this baby girl. The perfect picture of motherhood. A place where I could tell she was comfortable and confident. She dove right back into that role for the fourth time. When her own mother entered the room this picture was made complete. She leaned down and held her adult daughter's face in her hands and kissed her forehead. Three generations.

Moments like that make me incredibly grateful to be a women. And to be a part of motherhood.

Once Mom was ready, Grandma took the baby while she rinsed off in the shower. They reunited on the couch in the living room and cozied down in with pillows and blankets abounding. Family and friends slowly trickled in. Three older siblings met their new sister. Grandpa beamed with pride. . I loved seeing this family wrapped up in a loving community. Yet, as extraordinary as this day was, there was a sense of ordinary. Normalcy. And that's what I loved most about it. Birth is simultaneously magic and mundane. This birth encapsulated that perfectly.

And, then, after everything was sufficiently documented and my heart was full, I drove home and washed my hair... ;)