As I reflect on the birth of your beautiful daughter Paloma, I am conscious of what an amazing woman you are. I don't know you well enough to even begin to understand why you have chosen as you have - I just know that I have been privileged to come along with you for this part of your journey.

I often wonder why most women in our society today are satisfied, or at least accepting, of the care they receive when giving birth. Why they assume the passive role; believing that their bodies are likely to let them down. Why they submit to total strangers, and to systems and procedures that interfere with their intuitive knowledge; accept mind-numbing substances and progressively relinquish all authority for their own bodies. The most amazing aspect, to my mind, is that most of these women will then believe that they have been saved from a far worse fate, and express their enduring gratitude.

I wonder how you came to choose the less-trodden path. You have told me of your midwife for the births of your two boys, and I feel gratitude towards that wise woman, who has helped to empower you. And towards the doctor, a man who has struggled against the current of professional opinion to offer women more control of their birthing. Then there is your husband, who seems to trust you and quietly support you. These, and I am sure many other people and events have helped you become a strong woman today.

Part of your strength was your admission of weakness. When you told me of your fear of the strong birth pains, and how you wondered if you were being weak, and how someone had suggested to you that you just need to accept it - I knew then that you trusted me enough to be honest with me.

This is not something that I learnt from text-books or professional meetings. I learnt about that fear - that rejection of the pain - from my fourth child Josh, as I laboured with him. Since then I have seen women like myself and you, often in the fourth or subsequent birth, struggle with, and overcome this fear.

I think there is a weariness that comes over a woman as her parity increases. It seems to be psychological as well as physical - a loss of innocence. By this I mean that the woman knows that this baby will require her to give everything she has - and then some more. She knows that the family must adapt and include the new member. Life in its great complexity almost overwhelms her. But for the moment she must remove herself from what has been, and what is to come, and engage in what is.

You chose two wonderful women to support you and your family. What a blessing they were. And your two five-year-old daughters, making no demands for themselves, simply and intuitively accompanying you. Then with your little three-year-old coming in to witness the birth, telling you afterwards that you still had a fat tummy, and "Have you got another baby in there, Mummy?" - an intimate family event.

There are a few details that have stayed in my mind. These may not seem significant to anyone else, but I want to explore them for their relevance to the partnership between you and me.

I had told you that last Friday night was important to me, for Noel's 50^th birthday. I struggle with my own personal needs, and my desire to be available to my clients when they need me. I often say nothing. The small number of bookings that I have means that my time with my family is not often interrupted. I had to put a lot of energy into organising the birthday celebrations, and I needed to be here for him at that time, so I told you. Your body seemed ready to labour, but you waited for a more convenient time. I was thankful that you didn't need me that night, or the next day, because I was very weary.

As the days passed and we kept in touch by phone you often told me that you were 'almost' ready. There was a show, there were more contractions, but not labour. Then, on the morning of Paloma's birth day I spoke to you about encouraging labour with gentle nipple stimulation. You told me about which days were not suitable for one or the other, and I wondered if there would ever be a day that was right for everyone. I really wanted you to get on with it, because there were a couple of busy-looking days coming up, and another baby due, but I didn't dare put any more pressure on you. I did encourage you to put aside your concerns about who was available, and when, and let your body get on with what it wanted to do.

It was no surprise when you called me, a few hours after we had spoken, in labour.

It was a beautiful day. The drive from my place to yours, through suburbs then farmland and small towns, was a time of preparation for me. I was glad for the daylight and the warm sunshine.

Your home, Rainbow Farm, on a quiet dirt road, on a hillside, was a lovely place that day. The dove played a special role at the time of the first rainbow, and your fifth little dove made her entry, through the water, encircled by those who love you and your children.

Thankyou for letting me be part of that rainbow circle.

(*Paloma means dove, as do the names of this woman's four other children.)