Charlotte worked with me, I know she did, to be born. Her angel spirit fluttered around me as inspiration as I embarked upo the most difficult work of allowing myself to birth her. Strangely, I was afraid to meet her. Knowing now who she is. I can't imagine fearing that tiny, perfect person, but I did. But as soon as I began to work her out, the instinct to mother that is so deeply a part of who I am flew into full force and my body worked perfectly. Charlotte moved slowly down through me, gliding down, and then back, down and then back, gently stretching her way out of her world and into ours. Her father, my truest love Greg, was locked in gaze with her tiny being from the moment her first tufts of hair appeared. I only felt her, this tremendous pressure, urging me to do my woman's work and move her along. What gentle relief when her head was born, and then the tug of shoulders and my eyes opened to see her tiny body fall out of mine into gentle hands, glowing beneath her coating of my life blood.
We shared Charlotte with our families, one at a time. We wanted everyone to see what a gorgeous little girl she was, and to share in the tremendous peace of the time we had to spend with her. We cradled her close, as our loved ones came in one at a time and cried with us as they saw this miraculous little person who couldn't live. Charlotte is so beautiful, they all said, and they cried more because they could see how much we loved her and how desperately we had wanted to watch her grow up.