#midwiferies

[pseudowho]

"Good girl-- good girl, that's it! Listen to your body."

A bag full of snacks, and books, and massage oils, all woefully surplus to requirements, flung to the side of the room. The dappled reflection of under-lit water on the dark ceiling. A stack of warm towels. A tiny woollen hat. A little trolley of equipment; a calm attendant wearing smiles and blue.

Kento, knelt at the edge of the pool, his shirtsleeves soaked to the shoulder. One thick arm looped around your neck and chest as if he meant to throttle you, when really, he just needed to be held. Or, did you need to be held? The paired clinging comfort to be found in the gloom of fear, was not mutually exclusive, it seemed.

"Amazing work...you're doing so well, sweetheart...just going to listen to the baby's heart..."

Your heart and Kento's pounded in tandem, almost as fast as the little pwssh-pwssh-pwssh-pwssh of your baby's heart, tinny on the Doppler, as the midwife's hand swished through the water. Kento whispered to you, his cheek clasped to your temple, sweatslick hair sticking you together.

"Our baby-- that's our baby-- god I love you, I love you so much, I'm so sorry, I wish I could do this for you--"

You gasped, splashing legs clamouring for resistance against the edge of the pool, writhing back against Kento. Kento's face crumpled, his teeth gritting so hard against your agony, they crunched.

You bellowed, another contraction roaring through you like wildfire, and you gripped Kento's arm. Your scream became a roar as you pushed, absurdly, overwhelmingly dragged from your body by a brutal force of nature. You barely heard Kento's hushed rumble, through the haze of blinding pain.

"...can do it, you can do it, you're so strong-- not long now-- nearly here, they're nearly here, our baby--"

You gasped again, seeing stars for a moment, surely being cleaved in half and you panicked, crying out and digging your nails in. Kento didn't care, surely deserving this, certain your nails didn't sting as much as the stretch you felt stung. You babbled at Kento and the midwife, pleading, bargaining.

"I can't do it anymore-- please don't make me, please please--"

"You're doing it, sweetheart. The biggest part of the head is coming with the next push-- with the next one, just listen to me, and breathe. No pushing. Just little breaths."

You looked up at Kento, your eyes feverish with the love that ripped you asunder. Kento nodded, trusting you, trying to hide the fear and miserable male helplessness and uselessness that threatened to fill him with violence, if he did not cling so desperately to being gentle instead.

Kento felt you tense; another pain peaking as you shook your head, sobbing so briefly, only to be replaced by gritted resolution. Kento saw the fire in your eyes as you began to roar, and thought his heart may break with the weight of his adoration.

Kento grasped you close, your fingers plaited together. He whispered to you as you trembled, fighting against nature as your body pushed for you.

"...that's it-- that's it-- just breathe, little breaths, little breaths-- I know it stings, good girl, good girl-- and the head's out!"

Kento's heart stopped, to see the crest of a little head, its soft waves of hair swishing in the birthing pool. Invigorated by thrill, almost weeping with excitement, he whispered to you, heated and trembling.

"--oh god-- right there, they're right there-- nearly got them, we'll know what we've got--"

"Just one more big push, sweetheart-- one big push with the next contraction, and your baby's here--"

Almost ten months of blooming and worry and scans and building and laughing and crying and aching and fearing, all ended in one enormous push, and a whoosh, and a cry...

...and a cry, wet and sweet and crumpled and on your chest, mother and child still bound together by the string of life.

Kento buckled against the side of the pool. Still he held you, looking down at you, looking down at your baby, blue and angry and baleful at having been shoved into the world from their warm dark kingdom.

Arms replaced the womb, and Kento huffed a couple of great sobs to hear you babble love at your scrumply flailing babe.

"--oh my god-- oh you're so beautiful-- oh, mummy loves you-- daddy loves you--"

Daddy. Kento almost buckled again, nuzzling his tears away into your hair, smothering your sweaty cheeks with kisses and relief. His voice was thick with joy, the fever of pain in your eyes replaced with elation, clasping the boon of a champion within your arms.

"Thank you. I can't...I can't thank you-- I-- love you, love you both so much--"

You gazed up at Kento, basking, your eyes glazed. "Kento...Ken...what have we got? Tell me-- tell me what we've got."

Kento sniffled, looking at the midwife as if for permission. She looked on, an enamoured, privileged bystander, and nodded encouragingly to Kento. Kento leaned over you, gently lifting his baby's legs apart, peering under the cord.

He huffed a single wet laugh, and looked at you, honey-brown eyes rimmed red. Kento's voice was gravelly as he stroked your hair back, to your wondrous grin.

"You were right, lover...as always."

[innefableidiot]

A bit more of duck omens, it kinda felt like a crime to not make this but I would be glad to introduce:

BILDUCK THE SHUHITE

[feminist-furby-freak]

There is something particularly offensive about TIMs calling their surgical fuckhole ("""neov*gina""") a vagina.

Vaginas are amazing! Not only do they stretch to allow for childbirth and generally return back to their pre-pregnancy state (incredible!!!) but they are self-lubricating, they expand and dilate during sexual arousal, they are self-cleaning, they have their own unique ecosystem, they change based off of a woman's menstrual cycle.

There is no organ like it. The vagina is truly "the stuff of life." To compare a wound made out of the rectum or a mutilated inverted penis to the miraculous vagina is so sexist and insulting. Your """v*gina""" is a numb, infected, receptacle for a penis. Mine is one of the most intricate and versatile human organs. Stay jealous. They are totally incomparable. To say that they are similar is to reduce the vagina to fuck hole. It is so much more!!!

Anyway I love vaginas and hate TIMs <3

[thevictorianmidwife]

Out the Back

It was just after dawn when the boy came banging on Nellie’s door. No note, no message—just panting breath and wide eyes.

“She’s out back,” he said. “Mrs Green says it’s happening now. She didn’t make it back inside. They think it’s the baby.”

Nellie had her boots on before the kettle had finished boiling.

She knew the house on Tunstall Place. Six families shared the crumbling building, five of them mothers already, all of them stretched thin. The backyard was a patch of dirt and stone, and the toilet block—three doors in a row—stood crooked at the back like old teeth.

She found the women clustered at the back fence, shawls tight, lips thin. One of them—Mrs Green—stepped forward.

“She went out not twenty minutes ago,” she said. “Said she felt pressure. Next we know, she’s calling out, and the girl’s halfway crowned.”

Nellie didn’t waste words. She pushed through the cluster and ducked her head into the farthest cubicle.

The smell hit first—damp wood, rust, blood, and old waste. Then the sound.

Deep, guttural moaning, rhythmic and desperate. A woman’s voice—but not the voice she’d use for prayer or protest. This was something lower. Animal.

She was squatting, one hand braced on the peeling brick wall, the other gripping the seat behind her. Her skirt was hiked up around her waist, and her face shone with sweat despite the morning chill.

“God help me,” she panted. “It’s coming now.”

“You’re alright,” Nellie said, stepping inside, one hand already reaching for her satchel. “You’re not alone now, love. I’ve got you.”

The woman blinked through tears. “It’s not my first,” she said. “But none of ’em came this fast.”

Nellie laid down her coat on the filthy floor, knelt on it, and peered between the woman’s legs. The baby’s head was right there—slick, dark, tight with pressure.

“Next push,” Nellie murmured. “Let it come.”

The woman grunted. Growled. The walls of the cubicle trembled with her effort.

And then the head slipped free.

Nellie’s hands were steady. She checked for a cord, gave a gentle turn, and the shoulders came. The rest followed with a rush—warm, wet, and sudden.

A baby boy.

He gave a thin cry, startling against the early air.

Nellie wrapped him in her shawl, still kneeling on the floor of the outhouse.

The mother—her name was Elsie, she now remembered—sank back onto the closed seat, legs trembling, breath ragged.

“Is he—?” she asked.

“He’s fine,” Nellie said, placing the boy into her arms. “You both are.”

The cluster of women out back were crying now. Mrs Green wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. Someone handed Nellie a ragged bit of flannel for the cord. Another woman ran to boil water.

They helped Elsie back inside slowly, carefully, Nellie on one side and Mrs Green on the other, the baby tucked to her chest.

The house was still quiet. Not for long.

But for now, the sun was lifting, and a cry had joined the birdsong.

Nellie, wiping her hands with vinegar and rags, sat on the stoop and let herself exhale.

Not all births waited for beds. Some just needed a good pair of hands, even in the smallest, unlikeliest corners of the city.

Even out back, in the cold and the muck, life found a way to slip through.

[diazsdimples]

Successfully delivered 13 babies all on my own 😎

[thestarlightforge]

Agatha left Jennifer alone because she was doing “the real work.” Not just as a witch, but as an 11th generation root worker and midwife.

Because if she’d had a Jen instead of being isolated and alone, Nicky might have had a chance.

[aredphoxxart]

[hella1975]

BRUH

you hate to see a bitch be confusing and inconsistent

[edwardseymour]

"Given the marathon that Jane’s uterus had just been through, it’s likely that her uterus would have a reduced capacity to contract and effectively expel the after-birth contents of her uterus; lengthy labours tend to shred the membranes, especially if, like Jane, her membranes had ruptured early in her labour. I believe that here is where the best intentions again contributed to disastrous consequences. Wanting to ensure the best possible outcome, Henry bucked confinement tradition by inviting male physicians into Jane’s lying-in chamber. While we might see a physician’s help as a good thing, please keep in mind that Tudor era physicians weren’t trained in obstetrics. Had Jane’s immediate postpartum been similar to the above description, a physician would likely not have been well-versed in how to manage it. Had the midwives noticed retained tissue, they probably would have known to remove the offending product, manually if necessary, causing Jane further discomfort. To a Tudor physician, this would have been appalling, and protocol dictated that the physicians had seniority. Had they forbade an intervention, it would not have occurred."

— Dayna Goodchild, Jane Seymour and the Birth of Edward VI: A Midwife's Opinion

[ask-jiro-kirisaki]

Yuri has been working for days straight, putting it off every time Jiro asks when he's going to bed. Every time he seems to hit his breaking point, he gains another surge of energy. But today...Yuri glances up at him and squints at the paperwork in front of him blearily, "Jiro. We've spoken of the future before. About after this. About..." There was no gentle way to broach the subject plaguing him, especially not with his head this muddled, "about children. I've already drawn up concepts for the mechanisms needed to make it a reality, externally, but..." Why couldn't he get the words out? "If....we couldn't make it external, hypothetically..." He caps his pen, uncaps it, caps it, uncaps it, "hypothetically, if the children required a living host, that is...if..." Why is he even asking this? "You said I was the more feminine one of us. If it came to it, hypothetically speaking...would you be willing to let me? Would you....never mind, this entire subject is stupid, isn't it?" @ask-doctor-isami

He's silent for a brief moment - taken aback by the question that seems to have been plaguing his dear partner. "Is that what's been bothering you?" Jiro's voice is soft as he leans over the desk. A gentle hand reaches out to card through teal locks. It was unusual for Yuri to leave Jiro to sleep on his own these days. The captain also appeared distracted lately. While he knew something was on his mind, Jiro knew better than to try to force him to talk. The proud man would never admit to it - at least until he was ready to talk. "It's not stupid at all. These are the sorts of things long-term partners discuss, right?" Taking both hands into his - pen and all - he brings one to his lips, pressing a reassuring kiss there. "It's not something we've been able to discuss at length, but if the plan is to cure me first, I don't see any problem with that - If that's what you want of course." While the device would be the most practical, there was something about a natural pregnancy that had its merits as well. The first is quite obvious. Making the baby is the most fun portion. The rest though, had its challenges. But is it really much different than now? While Jiro is still able to work, Yuri still needs to care for him. If Yuri were to act as a host, their roles would be reversed, but Jiro sees no issue with this. "I'll be more than willing to cover for your maternity. Paternity? At any rate, if it comes to that, I promise I'll take care of you." If he ever needed to care for Yuri, he'd gladly do anything and everything in his power - just as Yuri does for him. "I find nothing wrong with planning. We have to account for every possible scenario. I'm just surprised you're thinking about our formerly hypothetical children."

[innefableidiot]

If you're ever feeling sad just remember that bildad the shuhite is always proud

HAPPY SHUHITE SUNDAY

[psychopomparia]

I thought this said Intellectual Malewifery

[thevictorianmidwife]

Unveiled – A Birth Without Barriers

The room was warm, thick with the scent of herbs, steam rising from a kettle on the stove where water simmered, ready for the coming birth. The dim light of the single candle flickered against the rough stone walls, casting long shadows that danced across the floor. The floor itself was nothing more than packed earth, worn smooth by years of use. There was a certain rawness to the space, a feeling of simplicity that matched the woman who stood in the middle of it.

Amelia was unadorned, unashamed. She had shed her nightgown as soon as the first pains began, standing before Nellie completely naked. Her body—round with child, muscles taut as she breathed through another contraction—was in full view. And yet, Amelia seemed utterly unconcerned by it. There was no self-consciousness in her posture, no trace of modesty. She was unbound, free.

She had been like this since Nellie arrived at her cottage—calm, confident, and completely at ease with her own skin. There was no concern about how she was perceived, no fear of the process that was about to unfold. The woman had birthed before—three times, to be exact—but something about this time felt different. Something about this birth felt more hers, more raw and untamed.

Nellie watched from the corner of the room, her presence steady and observant. She had seen many births in her years as a midwife, some quiet and controlled, others loud and frantic. But this—this was different. There was an air of abandon to Amelia’s movements, a willingness to trust her body’s rhythms without hesitation. She was shedding not only her clothes but all the external expectations of what birth should look like.

The contraction hit again, and Amelia gasped softly, her knees bending as she sank slightly, her hands resting on her hips. She didn’t make a sound, her breath deep and steady as she rocked her hips back and forth, swaying like a willow in the wind. It was as though she could feel the baby shifting inside her, moving with the pulse of her body, in perfect synchrony.

“You’re doing fine,” Nellie said gently, though she knew Amelia didn’t need reassurance. The woman’s eyes, bright with focus, met hers, and for a moment, there was a silent understanding between them. Nellie had seen women labour in silence, women who grunted, women who screamed. But Amelia? She was something else entirely. She seemed almost at peace, her face serene despite the growing intensity of her contractions.

Amelia’s body swelled with another contraction, and she leaned slightly forward, her legs spreading wide, her hips thrusting forward. She moved slowly, sensually even, as though she were in complete harmony with the pain and the progress of her labour. The way she moved, unashamed, raw in her nudity, was a stark contrast to the often stiff and awkward movements of the women who labour in the privacy of their nightgowns or under blankets, hiding their vulnerability from the world. Amelia didn’t hide—she was fully alive, fully present in the act of giving birth.

The room, for all its simplicity, was charged with the energy of the birth. Every sound—Amelia’s deep breaths, the low creak of the wooden chair as she shifted her weight, the quiet rustling of the blanket on the floor—seemed amplified, as if the walls themselves were waiting in anticipation.

Nellie moved closer now, gently placing a hand on Amelia’s back, feeling the subtle shudder of her muscles as another contraction surged. Amelia’s body seemed to take over entirely—there was no hesitation, no second-guessing. She bent lower, resting one hand on the floor, and with a deep exhale, began to push.

The room filled with the primal sound of Amelia’s breath—a low, deep hum that rose and fell with each push. It was a sound Nellie had heard many times before, but never quite like this. It was raw, unfettered, as if Amelia were a creature of the earth herself, giving birth as nature intended.

Nellie knelt beside her, her hands poised, waiting for the baby’s descent. Amelia’s legs were spread wide, her body open and vulnerable, but there was nothing weak about the way she held herself. She was in control, in command of her body’s movements, and there was a raw beauty in that.

As the contraction peaked, Amelia let out a sharp breath, her entire body trembling with the force of the push. The baby crowned, and Amelia gave a soft, low sound—a sound that wasn’t quite a cry, but more a steady, rhythmic moan. Her body rippled with the effort, her hands gripping the floor as the baby slowly made its way into the world.

Nellie gently supported the baby’s head, guiding it out with a careful hand. Amelia’s body relaxed with the release, her face softening into a smile as she let out a quiet, relieved breath. The baby slipped into Nellie’s hands, still warm from the womb, its skin soft and pale, its cries quick and strong.

Nellie carefully placed the baby on the floor beside Amelia, watching as the mother slowly sat back on her legs, her breath coming in slow, steady puffs as she gazed down at the tiny life before her. Amelia’s hand hovered over the baby’s tiny body, but she didn’t immediately pick it up. Instead, she simply looked—staring down at the little one with a deep, unspoken understanding. This moment, this sacred act of creation, was hers and hers alone. No one else needed to share it or define it. She had brought life into the world on her own terms.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of silent reverence, Amelia reached down and cradled her baby to her chest. She held it there, close to her skin, feeling the warmth of its tiny body against her own.

Nellie stepped back, allowing Amelia to take her time, to savor the moment. There was something so unhurried about the way the birth had unfolded, and it reminded Nellie of the countless other births she had attended—each different, each sacred, each uniquely human. But this one? This one was a reminder of how the body, when free of restraint and fear, could truly blossom in its natural state.

“Congratulations,” Nellie said softly, though the words seemed almost unnecessary.

Amelia smiled up at her, the glow of new motherhood already radiating from her. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice steady, her eyes alight with pride.

Nellie smiled in return. She could see it in her—the quiet power, the unshakable certainty that had guided her through the birth. There was no need for modesty here, no shame, only the beautiful, naked truth of a woman and the life she had just brought into the world.

[diazsdimples]

I've officially had 12 babies and I'm delighted! My end of year goal was 10 and I exceeded it!!! Manifest for one more this shift pls 🕯🕯🕯

[knithacker]

She Crocheted Childbirth Birth Teaching Aids - Set Includes a Uterus, Placenta, Baby and Umbilical Cord: 👉 https://buff.ly/2XcpgKR

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

since we're in the time of hot takes. why do we use the phrase 'pregnant person'. I do understand why but. it's dehumanising. change your method of phrasing for specific people not the group as a whole.