I worked a 12 hour clinic day and then went right to a birth. A beautiful birth too. The momma had a c/section with her first babe and angled for a vag birth this time. And she did it. She pushed that little girl out. She was a tiger.
So came home at 6 this morning and slept in. Sleeping in when I'm on call goes something like this:
The sun comes blasting in through the skylights at some ungodly hour. I have a headache from lack of sleep. The phone rings about 54 times. Each time, I lurch to a sitting position to see if it's the answering service with another birth. None of the 54 calls are the answering service.
I realize I'm hungry. I fantasize about a big breakfast with drippy toast and hot cereal and marmelade and tea. But I'll have to make it. I also have to pee but that means getting up and my headache is a monster with bad breath.
I think I sleep for 15 minutes at a time. The katz are on the bed. The dog has mysteriously disappeared. I fall back into a swoon. By 2:30 I'm up. My head is pounding. It's raining so I don't have to feel guilty about doing any yard work. The dog is being bathed at the dog place. I have to go get him. I stand at the fridge and wish a kindly chef was standing in the kitchen cooking me some delicious food with garlic and strawberries, not perhaps in the same dish.
I don't need a shower. Showers are for sissies. I think about the birth early in the morning and rejoice for the mom. She did it. She wanted the whole experience and she got it. My heart opens. I'm in my dirty clothes, hungry and tired and in love with the new parents and their babe and my good fortune. I'm a midwife. I'm a damn lucky woman.