Third time around, birthing my daughter, Bealah Moss. I am no longer young, a body rounded and made soft and pendulous with time, breasts well seasoned with the mouths of suckling babes, nourished. I am initiated as mother, but still this threshold feels vastly profound and I am a child in the face of this power. The astonishing ask of birth, blowing my mind; awe and the fear of how I can open to this force of life that courses like a river in flood, through my mortal flesh and fragile bones…. But my eyes are open this time, my mind is awake and it is my own hands that guide this baby’s passage, that greet this child so fresh to the world, guiding her out with my hands to my heart and her family. I am fully claiming this birth, this child, this most primal and real charge of bringing the world into being. It is my teacher that I am birthing.