I've been ruminating about trust all day. Such a huge topic. What do I hone in on? Even the simple, everyday act of getting in the car and driving from point A to point B involves many instances of trust.
I watch my 9-month-old daughter playing, then turn and joyfully beeline for me with all her might. She is completely open, completely dependent, and trusts me inherently.
So much in my day-to-day life occurs without a second thought, and I trust it will. just. happen.
I flick a switch and the light goes on. Turn on the tap and water flows forth. (Sadly this is not the case for many people in the United States right now.) I can go to sleep with my children and trust we will awake safe and sound. The sun will rise in the morning.
A father recently thanked me for helping bring his son safely into the world after a rare event complicated his birth four years ago. And it hit me what to write about. I've been apprehensive about attending a birth for the first time in nearly a year. Late at night I lie awake, playing out various scenarios in my head, giving myself little quizzes. What would I do if I heard wonky heart tones? Saw bright red bleeding? But I know better than to dwell in negativity, after all what you lend attention to will grow. I have to trust everything will be perfect and it will all come back to me. It's like riding a bike, right?
I trust in the synchronous intelligence of mother and baby.
I trust that my hands will know what to do.
I trust my mouth to speak with wisdom, and only when necessary.
I trust my ears to be sensitive to mamababy's rhythms.
I trust my eyes to shine love and confidence.
I trust my heart to be open.
I trust my mind to remember, and to recognize.
I trust my body to attenuate to the altered consciousness of the birthing space.
I trust my entire being to be present.