Continuing the story of our visits with a home birth midwife, there were a couple of occasions where there was very little talk about childbirth. On one day, when my husband could not make the appointment, the midwife had an antique book of poems on the table waiting for me. She had selected some readings in advance and, after I peed in the cup but before she listened to the baby's heart, she read them to me. They weren't about birth. They weren't about courage or anything thematically related to birth. But they were lovely and relaxing and she must have known that as I crammed this appointment between the insanity of work/end of the school day/dinner/laundry/kid baths/bed, that I needed a quiet moment. Maybe the fetus needed a quiet moment too. I am sure she was right. I remember thinking, what would an OB say if he/she witnessed this moment?
On another day, again sensing that I was tired and stressed, she encouraged me to sing. HA! I went along with the gag, but I really don't sing. Maybe I should. Maybe I would be less tired and stressed. But mostly I smiled and watched her sing. What a voice. Regardless, the trick worked, and although I had begun swelling like a tick as I reached the final trimester, I left her office feeling lighter.