After I lay her down to sleep, I’m kept from slumber by our earlier conversation. Her dreamcatcher sways slightly by the bedpost, reminding me how these ideals are part of her passions. Of her humanity. But a doula is not a doctor. A home birth is archaic, impractical—Christ. I turn to watch her sleep, heavy blonde lashes lay over her flushed cheeks, and she stuns my heart to a stop. I love her. There has never been a more lovely sight. I do not believe in her spirituality, but I believe in her. Still… her safety must always come first.
