You know who you are. You are the beautiful woman with a toddler at your hip and a shiny silver thread upon your abdomen.
You are born from a line of birthing women, with birthing hips, and with wide open spaces calling their babies down.
You are the woman who, if you could unveil your timid eyes, could see throngs of women supporting you and upholding you, shielding you, and rolling up their skirts and sleeves to hunker down with you, breath with you, and sweat with you.
You are the woman who, if you could unstop your guarded ears, could hear the multitude of the heritage speaking life's path into your loins, and breathing birth's chant into your heart.
And then, when your 'wonderfully supportive' doctor told you that your 'nearly 9 lb baby' was 'getting too big' and that you 'were going to come in for an induction and a trial of labor before your repeat cesarean', you would feel that strength coursing through your arms and legs, your womb would heave in indignation, and you would lift your chin high.
You know who you are. You know the truth about your body, you know the truth about your birth. You know right and wrong. And you are strong enough for this fight.
I asked you then, and I will ask you again - "how important is it to you?"