Hushed Willows these are the days of our lives

Watching a mother birth her children was always a sight to behold, and this one truthfully did not go much different than most — crying, dread, the mother wondering what she ever did to deserve such a fate — but that moment when the mother met her firstborn child, that’s what it was all about. After that, it was all over; the struggle, the pain. It was a hit of oxytocin that Olive received even though she herself was not giving birth, it was that strong, and it existed here and now between Lily and her little girl. Olive saw that sparkle, that glimmer of hope, simple and beautiful, as clear as day. 

Olive ooh-ed and aww-ed from afar, allowing the new mother and father a close proximity to the magic. There were the moments that could not be returned. The effect of new motherhood — or was it chamomile? — was writ across the faces of both Lily and Khali and Olive reveled in it. This is exactly why she became a midwife. 

With a new air of calmness Lily surrendered the entrance of her second child and, already an expert, she nudged him to her teat beside his sister. Olive beamed with pride at the young blackbird and her dutiful lover. They both deserved this, they so did. Though Olive suspected all was not over, she moved closer slowly and gave the pups a visual inspection. She would not touch the babes without the mother’s consent, and there really was no need to put that on Lily right now — from her assessment, both babes appeared healthy, breathing and suckling fine and strong. “Lily,” she cooed. “Look at your babies! They are healthy and simply exquisite.”