{Hartlie Anne} A Birth Story

Writing about a birth is a heavy thing. Mainly because it takes me so long to process through everything that encompasses bringing a tiny, brand new human into the world. There's so much to think through, so many emotions to categorize, a lot of physical pain from which to heal, a new household and familial routine to implement, and the inevitable writer's block that sleep deprivation induces.

It only took me eleven months to write about my experience birthing Maylin, and by that time Hartlie was almost here herself. One thing I'm learning in mothering this second child is that I'm able to emotionally recover sooner, better.  I was barely {okay, hardly at all, let's be real} over Maylin's birth when we discovered we were pregnant with Hartlie, and I'm afraid to admit it took me more than a few weeks to accept the new life growing inside me. It was difficult to cope with that reality.

Now, though, only four months after delivering Hartlie, I was able to not just start, but finish writing about her birth. This is huge progress, people! Writing in itself has always been therapuetic to me, so part of working through my emotions and memories requires this written rendering of our story.

I issued a disclaimer before jumping into Maylin's birth story, and I'll warn you again. Stories about childbirth tend to be pretty graphic, so if you're not into that sort of thing or are easily grossed out, just click away. No hurt feelings here.

Hartlie's due date was Monday, June 2, and after six weeks of walking an hour a day {sometimes twice, my neighbor called me out on doing "two a days"} at 1 cm dilated and no signs of baby, we chose to induce on Tuesday, June 3. The whole pregnancy I was convinced {due to some descrepancy with Hartlie's due date which is a very long and boring story} that Hartlie would be born early. By at least a week. I had consistent Braxton Hicks contractions from 20 weeks along, and by 36 weeks I had dilated 1 cm. "Hartlie is soooo coming early. A May-Baby. How sweet!" Nope, nope, and no. When I went to my appointment on my due date and I was still only at 1 cm, we decided, with the support of my doctor whom we trust and respect explicitly, to induce the following day. 

We arrived at the hospital at daybreak to get settled in a room and prepped for labor. I actually don't mind this part because it is somewhat soothing to watch the nurses prepare the room and set up the monitors. They have a calm efficiency that sort of pervades the atmosphere and puts me at ease. Like even though I'm an anxious ball of nerves whose heart is fluttering wildly and have no idea what I'm doing even though this is my second birth, at least the nurses do. They do. They know everything and are never nervous or unsure ever and you can not convince me otherwise or else I'll never have another child again. Because birth is scary. Even in today's modern world with our conveniences and medical advcances, childbirth is scary. Beautiful and exhilarating and empowering and one of the best experiences in human existence, but still scary. Also, I'm thankful to have birthed my children in America. I don't know how mothers in third world countries do it. I just don't. Anyway...

Our most beloved and favorite {I can have a favorite, right?} nurse from Maylin's birth with whom we've kept in touch over the past year no longer works in labor and delivery. BUT{!} since she has a bit of freedom with her new position and since her father-in-law is our doctor, she was able to be our nurse for Hartlie's delivery. Another positive for deciding to induce- she was able to plan to be there. When you spend hours with a person who is intimately involved in one of your most life-changing experiences, a bond is formed that's difficult to explain. I can't say enough how much we adore and trust her, and we are so thankful she was able to attend Hartlie's birth.

At 8:15 AM, after prepping everything and putting monitors in place, our nurse checked me. I was at 2 cm. Apparently I'd dilated another centimeter overnight. I was very encouraged by this because that meant my body had already arrived a little early to the party that was delivery day. Better early than late or never in this case. All systems were a go and I was relieved that my body "remembered" how to go into labor. {That my body might forget to go into labor has always been an irrational pregnancy fear of mine.} Our nurse went ahead and started the Pitocin drip, and Michael and I sat back to respond to texts and idly watch the contractions on the computer screen. Or so I thought. But oh, not such the case this time.  I started feeling contractions much sooner and much stronger than I did with Maylin. Which was good! I was glad my body was responding so readily and so well. I soon put my phone away and sat thoughtfully and prayed and "listened" to my body.

At 9:00 AM, my doctor came in to check on my progress and to break my water, which may be one of my least favorite parts of childbirth, and that's even including the contractions. It's just real uncomfortable, and I'll leave it at that. My contractions continued to strengthen and after about another 45 minutes I was having to concentrate and breathe through them, no longer able to participate in conversation with Michael or my nurse during a contraction.

At 10:30 AM, the contractions were painful, not just pinches of pain, but waves of rolling pain that I couldn't silently endure. They were regular and fast with not much recouperating time in between. My nurse checked me. I was at 4 cm and decided to order the epidural.

From this point, things are a little hazy to me due to concentrating so much on riding out each contraction. I know the contractions hurt. I know they were fast. I know that an entire bag of fluid was required to drip into me before I could get the epidural. I know Michael held my hand and was encouraging. That's about it. It was during this time that my nurse decided to turn off the Pitocin drip until after the epidural was administered to give my body a little break. My body had other plans...

Surprisingly, my labor didn't stop, or even slow down. It's like the Pitocin was the kickstart that my body needed to get labor started, and it completely took over from there. The Pitocin stayed off for good for the rest of my labor and delivery. Therefore, I didn't get that little "break" before the epidural was given. Unfortunately.

At 11:15 the anethesiologist arrived to give me the epidural. Mentally, I knew I only had to ride out the pain of contractions until the epidural, so I kept eyeing that fluid bag and doled out my measure of strength until I saw that man in the green scrubs wheel his little cart in my room. Relief would soon be mine, I was sure of it. Yet again, surprise, surprise.

The anesthesiologist explained the procedure while my nurse sat me up on the edge of the bed to get in position for him to insert the needle into my back. I barely remember any of this because the contractions were so forceful, and sitting up to lean over the side of the bed made them stronger. Much stronger. The epidural has to be administered during the peak of a contraction. I remembered from Maylin's birth that the pain of getting the epidural was inconsequential because it was dwarfed by the contraction, so I expected that to be the case this time, too. However, I knew the moment he stuck the needle in my spine, and I knew immediately that something was wrong. My right leg gave a violent, involuntary kick, like it had been hit by that little hammer on the kneecap, and a shocking jolt went through the right side of my body, almost electrifying. I must've cried out or said something, or maybe our nurse did, because the needle was pulled out leaving only the sensation of a contraction. The anesthesiologist apologized, said something about "missing the spot" and being a little "too far to the right." {Ya think??} He would have to start the whole procedure over. We had to wait until the next contraction, and this time, thank goodness, there wasn't an issue. I was told to lie back flat so the epidural could work its way to the lower half of my body, which would take several minutes.

As soon as I lay back, I felt tremendous pressure, like the biggest contraction I'd had yet, and it didn't go away. I breathlessly told my nurse that I didn't think the epidural was working, I could feel so much pressure. "You mean, you feel like you have to push?" she asked. "I don't know!" I almost yelled at her. I realize this is my second time to give birth, but I still felt pretty clueless. She quickly decided to check me, and I could tell by the sensation and the look on her face that, yes, it was indeed time to push. She looked at me and said quite calmly {to her credit}, "You're complete. Time to push. We're about to have a baby." 

It was 11:40. I'd dilated 6 centimeters in the space of an hour. With no pitocin. While getting an epidural.

At this point, to say I freaked out would be putting it mildly. Panic is more the correct term. Mentally, I absolutely was not prepared to be at the delivery stage of labor so soon. I had expected at least another couple of hours after the epidural was given, especially since usually labor is slowed by an epidural. I expected a couple hours of slight sensation from contractions while catching my breath. I expected to be energized and perky with renewed vigor. And nope. That wasn't happening at this point.

It was time to push, and the epidural hadn't kicked in yet. In addition, my nurse explained very calmly during the waves of pain, it was highly unlikely that the epidural would have time to work before delivery, especially due to the fact I'd be sitting upright in pushing position instead of lying flat, which is needed for the epidural to spread to the lower half of the body. I immediately wanted to cry, not from excitement that we were about to meet our baby {like I did with Maylin}, or even from the pain, but because I was terrified that I wouldn't be able to get through the pain to push the baby out. "I'm not sure I can do this! This hurts so bad!" was all I could say over and over. 

Y'all. It hurt. I can't reitterate that enough. I've read numerous accounts from women claiming childbirth for them was "a spiritural experience," with dark rooms and soft music and lots of meditation and suddenly they have a baby and they're not even sure if the contractions were painful because they were "in the zone." Ha, ha, ha, ha, HA! So NOT the case! I'm lucky my nurse and Michael were there to calm me down because literally I was in way over my head with the whole pain management and breathing thing. I had carefully mentally measured out my strength until the epidural came, and when it didn't have time to work, it's like I'd used all the strength I'd mentally prepared to use. I didn't think I had anymore. Cue wide-eyed, breathless panic.

Meanwhile, while I was panicking, the room was transforming from a calm, quiet, labor room into a fully functional delivery room, complete with scurrying nurses, beaming spotlights, tables of instruments, and a nursery nurse standing in the corner with her little cart waiting to bathe and weigh the baby. My doctor was paged. My legs were put into stirrups. My bed was raised. Pain or not, it was go-time.

My nurse was right in my face the whole time, breathing with me through each contraction, helping me get into a rhythm. After a few contractions the pain was manageable, but I was still doubtful I could push through it. My nurse ordered a bolster {I think I'm remembering that word correctly}, basically a local numbing anesthetic administered to a specific area, which would work quickly to numb the, ahem, "lady parts" in preparation for pushing. I've found that it helps me during delivery to see my progress, so I had a mirror brought into the room. And just like that, in a matter of minutes, my nurse was counting 10, 9, 8, 7.... and I was bearing down with all my leftover strength, pushing through the contraction, breathing out long and steadily, gripping the bars on the bed, and locking eyes with my man for extra support. I remember when I birthed Maylin my doctor's calm, low voice telling me to pushpushpushpushpush. He didn't have to say a word with Hartlie. She was coming whether I was pushing or not.

It's not every day you get to see something come from nothing, watch an empty void be filled with living, breathing, screaming life. A life that started as a whispered "what if..." between my man and me, that was created by the both of us and grew inside my body.  It's not every day you witness the fulfillment of a long awaited dream, the embodiment of an idea, a hope that was talked about, planned for, prayed over become a reality. I watched the crown of Hartlie's head appear, and nothing in all the world was so precious, so right, so perfect. Then, due to strength that barely registered in my mind, she was in the arms of my doctor, a dream become reality, a thought turned human.

When Hartlie came out, it's as if my entire world telescoped to that tiny baby girl. I heard nothing but the sound of her. I saw nothing but the color of her. Silent, wide-eyed, and purple. And a rock hit my stomach.

A million questions at once, "Is she okay?" 

"What's wrong with her?" 

"Why isn't she crying?" 

"Is she okay?" 

"Is she breathing?" 

"Why is she purple?" 

"Is she okay?

My doctor, so fast I barely registered what he was doing, suctioned mucus from her mouth and nose, rubbed her tiny back.

And then she cried.

And then I cried.

And then I held her, slick with fluid and blood, warm and writhing and wailing, right up against my chest as if I'd never let her go.

12:03 PM, June 3, 2014, my heart expanded to twice its size, letting in another soul to be knit to mine. Another, "Oh, hello, it's you; I've been waiting" moment of meeting.

Reluctantly, I gave her over to the nurse to have her Apgar score checked, not taking my eyes off her for a second, relishing in the sound of her teeny newborn cries. 6 pounds, 15 ounces, 19 1/2 inches, and badly bruised due to such a quick descent through the birth canal, bruising made worse due to traveling most of the birth canal while I was sitting up, leaning forward to get the epidural. Which was kicking in nicely now that the delivery was over. Fancy that.

And suddenly, where once were three, there are now four. Another life is wrapped up so tightly in mine that I can't tell where one ends and the other begins. It's as if I've flecked off portions of my heart, segments of my soul, watched as they've been given breath and form, and set them loose to flutter around outside my body, where they will at times be oblivious to me, but I never oblivious to them.

"Children are a gift of The Lord..." Psalm 127:3 

I couldn't be more convinced.

Meet Hartlie

Hartlie Anne Davis

6 lbs 15 oz

19 1/2 inches long

Born at 12:03 PM

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

Full birth story to come, but for now we are resting and soaking in every detail of this short-lived newborn phase. Sweet Hartlie, welcome to our family.

{Miss Maylin} A Birth Story

This post has been a long time coming, that's for sure. Maylin will be one in less than two weeks {um, what}. Yes, ONE year old. Holy goodness, but where has this year gone? It's passed waaaay faster than any other year of my life, and the nine {but really ten if you count the weeks} months I was pregnant with her drug by compared to the nine/ten months I spent with her after she was born. I'm not sure what this says about how quickly Hartlie's first nine months of life will be...pretty freaked out about that.

 I've been going through "old" pictures of Maylin while putting together a 12 month birthday banner for her party and I've also been gathering pictures to make a photo book of her first year. Additionally I've promised myself that I would complete her first year baby book {not sure why I feel so compelled to have a photo book and a baby book, but I do, and I'm sorry in advance to my future children who will probably luck out to get a few photos snapped of them at all...} before Hartlie comes so I won't be distracted by all that newborn baby smell and completely forget to finish it. Because that would be a travesty. Naturally.

So. This all has had me going back through the trusty archives of my iphone camera roll and pulling out the best pictures of Maylin's first year of life to send to Shutterfly and Walgreens respectively. I'm feeling nostalgic to say the least {did I mention that already? No? Prepare to read it more than once}.  It occured to me months ago that I've never put Maylin's birth story to virtual paper, and that I'd better do it before getting her birth experience all muddled in my mind with Hartlie's. I've never sat down to do it, because quite frankly I know it will take a large chunk of my time, and secondly because I know reminiscing about it will make me feel sadly nostalgic. But I figure 'tis the season, now, so why not? 

If you aren't into birth stories, or think they all read the same, or are too queasy about squeamish things, or just don't have the extra 15 minutes of time to read what is already shaping up to be a lengthy post, just stop scrolling now. I promise to do my best not to indulge any details that are too personal or explicit or just too much. Although this is a blog that's thus far been mainly about motherhood and pregnancy so a little bit of graphic info is bound to pop up. You've been warned.

 A whole year later and I'm not quite sure where to begin. This is partly the reason why I've procrastinated writing this post. Won't do that when Hartlie is born. There are so many things I will do differently the second time around with Hartlie, as I've learned so much with Maylin. But I digress.

I was induced to give birth to Maylin on March 28,  four days before her due date. Michael and I made the decision to be induced early based on several factors. 1} My doctor, whose years of experience we both deeply trust and respect, was going to be out of town the week of my due date and wouldn't have been on call to deliver Maylin if she arrived within the 7 day time frame he was gone. 2} Michael and I both desperately wanted my doctor, the one who had cared for us the entire pregnancy and knew me and my case, to be the doctor to deliver Maylin. We weren't comfortable having an on-call doctor who we didn't know and who wasn't familiar with me "catch the baby." 3} When my doctor checked my progress during my 39th week of pregnancy, I was already dilated to 1 cm and effaced 50%. We felt these were good indicators that I was "ready" to go into labor and that induction wouldn't be forcing my body to do something it hadn't already started on its own. 4} My doctor had been completely up front with us throughout my pregnancy of his absence the week of my due date, and induction was a topic that was discussed repeatedly. This did not come as a shock to Michael and me, nor were we pressured into a situation we weren't comfortable with.

I feel the need to explain all this because I know more and more people are leaning toward a more natural form of childbirth these days. It's a hot trend, and I've extensively read many books, articles, and personal blogs highlighting the pros and cons of both medicated, hospital births and natural home births. While having an unmedicated birth has always been on my "bucket list," it was not the case for us with Maylin, and I am okay with that. We made the right choice for our situation.

We saw my doctor on a Tuesday, exactly a week before my due date. After the examination, my doctor sat back and leveled his gaze and Michael and me. "Want to have a baby on Thursday?" he asked. I remember the intense feeling of shock, excitement, and nervousness that swept over me like a tidal wave, and apparently it felt the same for Michael because we looked at each other with the same wide-eyed expression on our faces. After regaining our composure and having a detailed conversation with each other in private, and then again with our doctor, we decided to proceed with the induction. We left the hospital in a state of anxious euphoria, a feeling that repeated itself many times over the next week.

We went on an impromptu date to a nice restaurant in a nearby city that night, knowing it would be our last for a very long time. I will never forget the feeling of sitting at our candlelight dinner KNOWING that our baby, our long-awaited little girl, would be arriving in less than 48 hours. It was surreal in the truest sense of the word. I don't think I've ever felt quite that way in my life, before or since. I spent the next day completing my packing of my hospital bag, gathering the last of Maylin's things, straightening an already pristine nursery, getting last minute advice from my friend that had her first baby merely 10 days before, and emailing my cousin {who is a labor and delivery nurse} about what to expect once we got to the hospital. I'm not sure how Michael or I actually fell asleep that night...

We were instructed to be at the hospital at 6:00 AM Thursday, March 28, and we walked through the darkened parking lot and were there, checking in, at exactly 5:55. {Overly excited? Only a little.} I was set up in a room by the sweetest, kindest, most personable nurses you could ever meet, which is saying something considering these were the night nurses who had already worked a full shift. In fact, before I continue I really must comment on the nurses who cared for us during our labor, delivery, and hospital stay. They are angels. Literal angels, I tell you. I've never been more impressed by a group of human beings in my whole life. I felt like they cared for me personally, as if I were the only woman on the floor giving birth that day, which I most decidedly was not. I still remember the names of the nurses who cared for me. I'm not exaggerating, I truly do {Susan, Ashley, Nancy, Christy. See?}. I know I wouldn't have made it through labor, delivery, and those first two nights trying to breastfeed a newborn without them. 

After registering, getting into the hospital gown, donning a blood pressure cuff, IV, and heart monitor for Maylin, I started receiving a Pitocin drip at about 7:30 AM. For the first hour, I felt nothing, not the slightest contraction or discomfort. I could see my contractions on the monitor set up by the bed, but they were so faint that I couldn't feel them. During this time, Michael and I relaxed, answered texts from well-wishers, and in general just stared at each other with goofy grins on our faces {which were soon to be erased by labor...Oh what newbs we were}. One thing I enjoyed was hearing Maylin's heart beat on the monitor. It was really neat and strangely comforting to hear her heart beating its steady staccato throughout the room.

My and Michael's parents came in to visit for a few minutes, but I really wanted the delivery room to be private, so they didn't stay long. By 9:30 my contractions were stronger, enough that I had to concentrate to relax, and I had dilated to 2 cm. I remember my nurse saying she could feel Maylin's head when she checked me, which I found incredible because I had no idea babies got that low in the birth canal before the pushing phase of labor started. There were lots of things I learned that day. Michael too. We were both very educated by the end of the day.

My nurse increased the Pitocin drip every 30 minutes, so my contractions got increasingly stronger and closer together. At 10:30 I was dilated 3 cm, and my nurse broke my water. I have to note this was the strangest, most disconcerting, and embarrassing sensation I've ever felt. There's really no way to describe it other than you feel as if you're uncontrollably using the bathroom on yourself. I was also surprised and shocked at how much water came out in that initial flow. Like, so much water. This continued with every contraction I had, as if my body were really working to get everything baby related OUT {quickly, please and thank you}. 

It was at this point my contractions really increased in difficulty and the pain level shot up. I also started dilating very quickly after this. By 11:00 I'd dilated to 4 cm. The most comfortable position for me was on my hands and knees with my belly swaying toward the floor, but my nurse didn't like that position very much and in no uncertain terms told me to lie back down on the bed. {This is really the only complaint I have with my labor/delivery experience in the hospital; I really wish I could've labored in the position that was most comfortable for me rather than having to lie on the bed.} I ended up lying on my side, eating ice chips and squeezing M's hand during each contraction. By 11:30 the contractions were pretty intense, and I'd dilated to almost 5 cm.

At 12:00 I decided to get an epidural. I'd waited it out as long as I could considering I was on the Pitocin drip. I have high aspirations of one day going all the way with no pain meds, but Pitocin is pretty brutal, so I'll save that for a time when I'm not induced. The epidural was pretty uneventful. I sat on the edge of the bed and leaned into Michael and my nurse while the anesthesiologist applied the medication. I could still feel the contractions, even after the epidural, which I was thankful for because I wanted to have an active role in my labor rather than just letting medicine do all the work. They weren't nearly as painful,  just persistent.

The most difficult and instense time of labor for me was between 6 and 9 cm. During this time my blood pressure kept dropping, leaving me nauseated and light-headed. I kept my hospital bed elevated so that I was sitting almost straight up and down. This was the only position comfortable enough for me. Every time I tried to lie back, my blood pressure dropped even lower. I also experienced severe shaking and chills, which I've read is common for the transition stage because the body is progressing very fast and very significantly. Maylin's heart rate also dropped during this time, not to a rate that was alarming to our nurse, but we monitored it carefully for the remainder of labor. Much of this time period is a blur to me, mainly because I didn't feel as good as during the early part of labor. 

My body regulated to dilating about a centimeter an hour after getting the epidural. By 3:00 PM I was at 9 cm, and at 3:30 I'd reached 10 cm. When my nurse checked me the last time, she got a little smile on her face, looked at me, and said, "Are you ready to meet your baby?" From that point on I was holding back tears as stubbornly as I could because I didn't want my emotions to rob me of the strength to push. In reality, all I wanted to do was curl up in a little ball and cry my eyes out over relief of the whole ordeal being over and Maylin being in my arms. But I knew if I wanted to push Maylin out myself and not end up on the operating table I had to hold it together and concentrate all of my energy on pushing. 

My nurse pressed a little button on the wall and my room became a flurry of immediate activity as they readied the space for delivery. A nursery nurse wheeled a portable station into the room so she could test Maylin's Apgar score and clean her right there in the room with me. Another nurse brought in what looked to me a surgical table on wheels with all sorts of medical instruments laid out on top. My nurse called my doctor {who had been checking on me periodically throughout the day}, and began to "suit up" for the delivery. What this means is she pretty much dressed herself for full out surgery, or that's what it looked like to me. Surgical gown, surgical cap, surgical gloves, surgical mask, then bada-bing, bada-bang, my feet were in stirrups, my bed was wheeled under spotlights that magically appeared from the ceiling, and she was sitting between my legs telling me to push. 

At this point, it was impossible for me not to push, my body was so ready for Maylin to come out. I waited for each contraction, gripped the bed railing with all my strength, and pushed. It wasn't too taxing at first becasue of the adrenaline surge that was cued by the words "are you ready to meet your baby." But after a while it was exhausting. My doctor came in soon after to take over the delivery and my nurse moved to my side. Michael hovered between holding my hand and leaning over my head to standing down by the doctor so he could witness the birth. I asked for a mirror so I could see the progress of Maylin down the birth canal. It also helped me time my pushes with the contractions. And, let's be honest, I didn't want to miss out on the miracle of watching Maylin enter our world, especially if Michael was getting to see it. I wanted to see it too. 

My nurse was so encouraging during this time. Between contractions she would stare me in the eyes and firmly tell me what a good job I was doing, that I was strong, that the baby was going to be here any minute, "Here comes the next contraction, are you ready? okay PUSH, 10, 9, 8, Push Jana push, 6, 5, 4, almost there hang in there, 2, 1... okay relax. That was perfect, we're going to do it again just like that, you're doing so good at this..." and so forth. My strength really started to wane after about 20 minutes of pushing and once again I could feel the onslaught of tears right beneath the surface ready to take over. I glanced at Michael and started to say weakly, "I can't..." but before I could utter another syllable my nurse gripped me by the shoulders and said very firmly and confidently, "Yes you can. Yes you can Jana. You're doing it right now. We're going to get this baby out. You are strong. You are going to do this. Do not even think the word can't." I nodded obediently and shored up my tears once more, pushing them below the surface of my emotions and concentrated fully on each contraction so I could push with all my strength.

It became apparent after a while of pushing that Maylin was getting hung up in the birth canal. She was far enough down that we could see her head, but with every push she'd stop at the same spot, never coming any further. After some investigation, my doctor saw that she had her fist up next to her cheek, which was making it more difficult for her to proceed down the birth canal. This shouldn't have come as a surprise to me because she always had her fist near her face in ultrasound pictures. My doctor asked if we were opposed to using a vacuum. While I wasn't thrilled about the idea, I was even less thrilled about not being able to push Maylin out. We had very little time to consider this because the next contraction was right there.

Nurse: "It's time to push, let's go" {as if I needed to be told, pushing was uncontrollable at this point} PUSH 10, 9, 8, 7...

Doctor: pushpushpushpushpush {in a calming, low, persistent tone}

Michael: "You can do it, babe, she's right there, she's almost out, there's our Maylin right there, you're doing it"

All while I was bearing down with everything I had and my nurse pushed on the top of my stomach to give Maylin an extra umph to get out.

And suddenly, there she was. Maylin Sidney. Out of my body in my doctor's hands, covered in white mucus and a little bit of blood, screaming her lungs out and flailing her little arms. Relief, from the pressure of the contractions and the stress of pushing, was immediate. I could finally cry. And cry I did, hard and unstopping for the next hour. I cried as I watched Michael cut the umbilical cord. I cried when they laid her on top of me and I held her the first time. I cried as they cleaned her up and stitched me up. I was still crying when they gave her back to me in a clean blanket and tiny knit cap. Oh how I cried. I cried for relief; I cried for joy; I cried for thankfulness; I cried for exhaustion; I cried because my first pregnancy was over, and I cried because the pregnancy was OVER. The gamut of emotions ranged from one end of the spectrum to the other.

I cried because we made it, the three of us, the start of our little family. Our baby girl was here. The waiting was over. She was ours.

I'd always wondered how love for my children would begin. Would it gradually swell over time as I got to know my baby? Would it be immediate? Would I feel something or nothing when I first held her? I've heard it differs from person to person, but for me, my love for her was full and complete from the moment I saw her out of my body. Her face was familiar, her cry was recognizable. It was if I had known her in my subconscious all my life, and it was only now that I was remembering her. It felt a little like remembering a dream from the night before in perfect clarity during the day. An, "oh yeah, I remember now" moment. It felt as she had been with me all along.

There are moments in my life I can look back and say, "My life started there." When I believed in Jesus, for example. The night Michael told me he loved me. The day I said "I do" to living life with my man. Each phase seems like it's going to be the best one, that life is saturated with fullness and for it to get any better life would have to become a dream, a fantasy. At 4:29 PM on March 28, 2013, my life began again. It became more deeply hued with the colors of love, tenderness, thankfulness, smearing on top of colors that already existed, turning my life yet again into a masterpiece almost too beautiful to look at.

Even today, a year later, I get chills when I think about the day of Maylin's birth. The excitement, adrenaline, {small amount of} fear, anticipation, the sharing of a dream with Michael, and the mutual experience of birthing our first daughter. That day will never be forgotten.