That's Gonna Be Such a Great Story!

This time of year, everyone stresses over making everything just right: the right present, for the right person, and the right food at the right time and the right colors on the right sized tree so things will turn out right and everyone will be happy. 

Well, folks, I'm here to tell ya that it is not going to all be perfect. They may have already gotten that present. You might burn the pie. The cat may pull the tree over. And you know what? That's the beauty of it. We don't tell stories about the perfect Christmas, we tell stories about the time the lights went out in the middle of slicing the turkey, the time so-and-so got stuck in a blizzard and didn't get here til midnight, the time the baby slung mashed potatoes at grandpa's face. 

It's the little imperfections that make the memories, the mangled mash-up of so many people together that somehow weaves itself into a beautiful tapestry that we look back on with joy. It's the hiccups and the "whoopsies" that make it beautiful. 

Or, in this case, the wrong verse, the wrong song, or a random solo that really make the performance:

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Mornings in Maternity

Being a senior in high school, the question of my future plans is one I am very used to answering. However, to many of those asking, my answer is not one they're used to hearing. I am going to be a midwife. Yes, deliver babies. No, I don't think it's gross. It's amazing.

This semester, as part of the Health Career Institute, I spend my mornings at a local hospital shadowing on the maternity floor. Many well-meaning people have gotten in over their heads by asking me "What happened at the hospital today?". While I go off excitedly about watching a c-section, they slowly turn a pale green and avoid eye contact, trying desperately to change the subject before puking. Okay, maybe it's not that bad, but I have chosen a career path that involves things many people would rather not think about. This is understandable, but I'd like you see the joy I find in this work.

First of all, I get to wear scrubs! Quite possibly the comfiest uniform out there - no lie. Second, I get to hold babies. This is the best de-stressing therapy out there. I see the fast days and the slow ones, the happy new families and the difficult situations, the smiles and the tears.

Some days are sad. I sit under the dimmed lights, listening to the muffled radio that streams from the overhead speakers as it is punctuated by the beeps and boops of monitors - the sound of a tiny spirit fighting for a chance at life. I will never understand why some have such a rough start.

There are also days when I see a new life come into the world. As tiny pink hands flail and the first scream shakes the air, I simultaneously want to jump for joy and burst into tears. I have now seen three Cesarian sections and three vaginal deliveries, and there is no doubt that the wonder will never fade.

These are the days when I get to watch miracles happen before my eyes. This is why I want to be a midwife.

Taste This World

Taste this world, rub it on your face.
Bite into it like a slice of watermelon,
as juice dribbles down your chin.

Touch this world, put your fingerprints on it.
Stroke it softly like it’s a tiny kitten,
then roll in it like a loft full of hay.

Listen to this world, press your ear against its door.
Hear its tiny pitter-patters, its rambunctious roars,
heed its call, like the sea speaking through a shell.

Smell this world, bury your nose in its petals
Breathe in deep like you’re at a picnic
and there is bar-b-que on the grill.

Look at this world, peer into its depths.
Stare, mesmerized, as though you are a child
who is seeing his first firework show.

Don’t be afraid to dive in real deep,
Absorb all you can, myriad adventures await
if you’re brave enough to taste this world.