Two sisters curled up next to each other on the bed. The older in labour, the younger a comforting presence, holding her hand, whispering encouragement in her ear. It's the middle of the night, the lights are low. The midwives are sipping coffee.

A newly made father unable to speak, turning away as he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

A woman on the mattress in the corner, her back arched, arms over her head, hands against the wall for resistance as she pushes down the bed to birth her baby. Her face contorted with the effort, her body an astonishing and awe-inspiring picture of sheer power. "I am woman, hear me roar." It's the first time I've seen someone use her arms and the wall like that for pushing.

Three sleepy older siblings coming into the room while wiping sleep from their eyes, awakened in the wee hours to greet their brandnew brother.

Eyes lit up at the sound of that first listen to the heart beat. The rhythm quick, transmitted through flesh and gel and plastic by doppler. Months before anyone will meet this little person.

These are glimpses. It's moments like this that remind me why I want to do this. When I am feeling discouraged and incompetent and inadequate and exhausted and wondering if it's all really worth it and if I'm really cut out for this work.

I sometimes feel like I'm intruding on intimate moments, like I have no right to be there. I am an outsider. But birth is beautiful, women are strong, and I want to be a part of it. How is it that I get to be a part of this and bear witness to such wonderful moments?