My first child took his sweet time joining us. While I felt completely ready, my little one seemed perfectly content to stay put. In fact, my doctor confidently told me, “Trust me, this baby won’t be late.” Yet, the due date came and went with no signs of labor—just me, very much pregnant.
During my pregnancy, my husband and I attended a birthing class that prepared us for labor through a rather unorthodox method: holding an ice cube. (For those who haven’t experienced childbirth, this is nothing like the real deal.) Like many expectant mothers, I aimed for a “natural” labor—no medications, just breath and the conviction that it would all be okay.
In pursuit of a natural birth, I tried every old wives’ tale to induce labor. I took long, hilly walks, practiced yoga poses, and experimented with chicken and eggplant parmesan, hoping one of them would work. I doused my meals in hot sauce and sipped raspberry leaf tea daily. But nothing happened.
By the time I hit a week into my maternity leave, I started to feel the pressure. I knew my baby was cozy in my spicy womb, but returning to work still pregnant would be a bit awkward. Reluctantly, I scheduled an induction date for ten days past my due date, convinced he would come on his own before then.
As the day of induction approached, I still felt no signs of labor. In a final attempt, I visited an acupuncturist. While she placed needles in me, she asked, “Why are you so determined to avoid induction?” I shared my desire for a natural birth, to experience everything authentically. She simply replied, “Whatever happens, this will be your birth experience.”
That struck a chord with me. I was so focused on doing everything “right” that I lost sight of the bigger picture. This was a monumental moment for my husband and me—we were about to become parents. Why should I let my rigid expectations overshadow the significance of the day? If Pitocin was needed, then so be it.
In the end, my first child, along with my two subsequent kids, needed a little push to arrive. My husband and I even had a secret code for when I wanted an epidural: “I’m serious, darn it!” Yet, when labor finally began, it was so swift that I didn’t have the chance for pain relief. But if I had needed it, that would have been perfectly okay too.
Looking back, I don’t dwell on the medical interventions I had to accept. Instead, I remember the awe of suddenly becoming a family, no longer just a couple. I think about how my baby announced his arrival with a loud cry and an unexpected stream of pee that surprised everyone. I recall how he looked both familiar and entirely new, impossibly small yet larger than life in my heart. I remember the overwhelming relief of seeing him—alive, healthy, and finally in my arms.
It was my experience, and it was perfect.
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