5 weeks, 1 day

I'll be stepping on a plane in 5 weeks, 1 day, for the longest flight I've ever taken. I'm going via Atlanta, GA, to Portland, ME (not Portland in Oregon), and from there I'll probably rent a car to drive myself to Bridgton. The total flying time is something like 23 hours, travelling back across 7 time-zones.

Delta's steel airborne bullet will be my home for almost one full day, and my inescapable self will either chatter away to the other passengers and surf eagerly for some good in-flight movies to pass the time, or retreat inward to contemplate where I am, and where I'm going to.

Soon I'll step into the tunnel, try not to hold my breath and flee, but instead immerse myself in the anxiety, the anticipation, the elation, the confirmation that I am stronger than I ever thought I was -- but that it's good to ask for help and support sometimes.

Once a labouring woman surrenders to the birth process, it becomes an irresistible force that buoys her up and carries her along to a place she's never been before. She is transformed, unrecognisable to herself and to others, yet she's exactly who and where she was always meant to be.

Becoming a midwife, like becoming a mother, is a rite of passage.
I am ready.