The phone rings just as I’m taking Cub down for his nap, so I swing him over to my right hip and pick up the phone. I look at the caller ID and initially come up blank. Then, as I recognize the area code, I can’t answer soon enough.
Hello?
Hi, is this Taryn?
I recognize her voice immediately, the distinct British accent that belongs to a young, blond woman and not to the older, gray-haired woman that I’d initially imagined.
I slide down to the floor, my back against the wall, Cub’s legs now straddling my waist. He points to the phone and reaches for the buttons. “Huh?” he says.
I smile at him, kiss his forehead as my eyes sting hot with tears, and try to listen. I don’t remember the conversation. I remember she said congratulations and full admission. I remember saying thank you, thank you, thank you.
I get to be a midwife.
Hello?
Hi, is this Taryn?
I recognize her voice immediately, the distinct British accent that belongs to a young, blond woman and not to the older, gray-haired woman that I’d initially imagined.
I slide down to the floor, my back against the wall, Cub’s legs now straddling my waist. He points to the phone and reaches for the buttons. “Huh?” he says.
I smile at him, kiss his forehead as my eyes sting hot with tears, and try to listen. I don’t remember the conversation. I remember she said congratulations and full admission. I remember saying thank you, thank you, thank you.
I get to be a midwife.
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