The other night I had my first four-handed catch, and it was thrilling. I still get a little giddy when I think of it, and I'm looking forward to my first solo catch and how exciting THAT will be. It's like nothing else. To be the first one to have your hands on that new little life. All soft and warm and slimy and lovely. To pass her off to the hands and breasts of her waiting mother. The reward for all of that effort and hard work and pain. Birth is so beautiful. It's messy, true (I ended up somehow squirting blood all up my arm and all over my preceptor when I cut the cord. Oops!), and it involves immense amounts of pain, but it is SO beautiful. And as a student, just starting out on this adventure called midwifery, I'm so grateful to the women and families who help teach me, and welcome me to be a part of their experience - one of the most intimate, personal, beautiful, painful and possibly traumatic, and definitely life-changing experiences that there is. It's amazing that I get to be involved in this on a regular basis. That this is going to be my life work. And every time, the wonder and awe of it all is the same. It is the same as the first time I saw it happen, almost ten years ago now. I hope that never ever lessens, regardless of how many times I see it happen.

I love the way the afternoon light pours in the window of my new bedroom, reflecting off the mirror and glowing on my clothes hanging in the closet, all soft and orange. Rachel says it's the best room in the house for light. It makes me so glad I'm no longer in a basement. I'd much rather be three floors up, able to sit on the floor in front of the window and look out over the surrounding yards and houses, the sky and trees. Much better than being at grass level and looking out at the wall of the neighbour's garage. I like the angles in the ceiling. I've always been partial to sloped ceilings. Rach and I are planning on painting the room, and I'm excited about this, but can't decide if we should go shades of green or rusty red orange. Too bad it'll only be home for four months.

I wish I had red hair sometimes. The pretty curly kind.

I'm feeling lots about tomorrow. Anxious, excited, terrified, impatient. I feel like it's something really big. Like so much is hanging on this experience, and whether or not I can pull it off. My entire future. Yikes.

On new year's we were talking about if we are private people, and Rachel recalled Colin telling her about our sleepovers. I'd forgotten about those sleepovers. We'd spread sleeping bags on the floor in the family room in front of the wood stove, my brother and me. We'd watch the flames consuming the wood, and we'd share secrets in whispers. Or rather, he'd share secrets. He'd ask me about things in my life, and I'd have nothing to say, so I would just listen to him. I suppose I am a private person. I don't readily share secrets, and I guess I never have.