In My Ideal Birth

In my ideal birth I am noisy.
I labour long, walk up and down, heave my bulk over the chair,
the bed, lean over the nearest available object
at the right height (even if it’s a toilet seat).
In my ideal birth I can groan weep laugh be held
be massaged nurtured
mothered as I become mother.

In my ideal birth there are no machines.
No doctors, no medical emergencies, just a child
in meditation upside down
in my womb and a long slow process of welcoming
her into the world.

In my ideal birth, there are patient people willing to rub my back.
There are people that I love.
There are very few people.
There is no hurried young resident breaking my water,
there is no harried nurse hooking me up to oxytocin drip,
there is no fear of labour. There is no premature
stripping of anything, let alone a cervix.

In my ideal birth, I am monitoring my own rhythms.
I am breathing hard.
I am pushing beautifully when I feel the urge.
I am not told it is not time, the doctor’s not here yet.
I am ready when I am ready and there is no time limit.

In my ideal birth, there are wise women.
They trust my body,
ad I trust my body, God’s
little birthing machine.