Five years ago today, Maeve, the third child I'd grieved and given up hope of having, was born, flashing her Ben-dimple and sucking at her tiny thumb. For a full year, I could hardly absorb that fact of her. Never had I basked in a baby's presence like that, with such perspective and gratefulness. Because we lived in DC for this baby, my mom and Annemarie, Maeve's soon-to-be-godmother, met us at the hospital and stood at my side for her entire birth (while my dad held down the fort with Eden and Silas).
Right after Maeve was born, Annemarie pointed out that she came into the world during the exact hour when summer became fall; she taught me the word liminal, and later wrote this beautiful piece.
maeve magnolia
It seems impossible to say that I had never witnessed a birth before Maeve's on Saturday, but I hadn't.
Birthing is not the same as witnessing. Birthing is work, pain, love, desperation, and focus. Birthing
is breathing, squeezing a hand, yelling, riding the wave of the contraction, pacing, showering, walking,
balancing on the balance ball, sinking into Greg's chest, swearing never to do this again, hoping, waiting,
enduring. Birthing is becoming- it's both becoming someone and allowing someone to become.
Witnessing is different. Witnessing is standing on sacred ground. It's making the coffee run, grabbing the
camera, emailing the list, standing still, waiting. Witnessing is standing in a space so holy that it feels
strange to ask or do anything mundane. Witnessing is silently praying, filling the space of the room that
is about to be full of new life, with blessings, thanksgiving, praise. Witnessing is to be overcome, undone,
by the power of it all.
Sweet Maeve,
I am so honored to have witnessed your arrival into this world. I'm sure they've already told you, but you
were born in the hour between summer and fall. As that morning dawned, while your Mama was working
so hard, loving you here, birthing you, the word that came to my mind was "liminal."
liminal: 1. relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process
2. occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or a threshold.
It means to be in between: and what an in between space that day was! What a lot of waiting and
wondering there have been these past months! Your family has been in a lot of in between spaces this
year (coasts, houses, friends, seasons.) But now, it is fall and you are HERE! - in all your delicious, perfect,
teensy glory. I'm so glad you're not in between anymore, but here: to love and be loved.
Welcome dear one! I love you so,
Your fairy Godmama
Annemarie Mott Ewing
Birthing is not the same as witnessing. Birthing is work, pain, love, desperation, and focus. Birthing
is breathing, squeezing a hand, yelling, riding the wave of the contraction, pacing, showering, walking,
balancing on the balance ball, sinking into Greg's chest, swearing never to do this again, hoping, waiting,
enduring. Birthing is becoming- it's both becoming someone and allowing someone to become.
Witnessing is different. Witnessing is standing on sacred ground. It's making the coffee run, grabbing the
camera, emailing the list, standing still, waiting. Witnessing is standing in a space so holy that it feels
strange to ask or do anything mundane. Witnessing is silently praying, filling the space of the room that
is about to be full of new life, with blessings, thanksgiving, praise. Witnessing is to be overcome, undone,
by the power of it all.
Sweet Maeve,
I am so honored to have witnessed your arrival into this world. I'm sure they've already told you, but you
were born in the hour between summer and fall. As that morning dawned, while your Mama was working
so hard, loving you here, birthing you, the word that came to my mind was "liminal."
liminal: 1. relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process
2. occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or a threshold.
It means to be in between: and what an in between space that day was! What a lot of waiting and
wondering there have been these past months! Your family has been in a lot of in between spaces this
year (coasts, houses, friends, seasons.) But now, it is fall and you are HERE! - in all your delicious, perfect,
teensy glory. I'm so glad you're not in between anymore, but here: to love and be loved.
Welcome dear one! I love you so,
Your fairy Godmama
Annemarie Mott Ewing
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