My birth story began on Friday, January 18. I was 39 weeks pregnant to the day, and it was the first day of my leave from work. Tim was home that morning, so we decided to start the day off slow, have some coffee together, and watch a movie (Baby Mama—we had just finished Parks and Rec, and I was still on an Amy Poehler kick). However, a nice and slow morning was not in the cards for us, as about 10 minutes into the movie, my water broke!

Tim and I made our way to the hospital and were admitted. I was 3 or 4 centimeters dilated, but couldn’t really feel any contractions (though monitoring showed I definitely was contracting). I was given pitocin, and the dosage was gradually increased throughout the day. Tim and I had lots of time to kill throughout the afternoon and evening as we waited for my labor to speed up. We finished the movie we had barely had a chance to start. I read one of the books I received for Christmas (side note: I didn’t realize how important that would be, as I haven’t had time to read a book since!), and wrote a letter to my sweet baby who would surely be here soon.

Suddenly, around 8pm, it literally felt like all of the pitocin I’d received throughout the day hit me at once. Within three contractions, my pain went from mildly uncomfortable to absolutely excruciating. I asked for an epidural and cried while they administered the injection, but afterwards felt so much better and was able to get some rest while we continued to wait for my body to dilate more. Finally, by midnight, I was 100% effaced, 10 cm, and ready to push! In the dark and quiet hours of the new day, January 19, I felt calm and ready to bring our baby into the world.

Well, several hours of pushing later, no progress had been made. Adelaide was in the exact same position as she was when we started. My doctor determined that the baby could not pass through unassisted. The peaceful quiet was gone; I was discouraged and exhausted as I watched minutes turn to hours on the clock. Around 3:30 a.m., the doctor advised me that it was probably time to consider a C section—however, she said it was my decision whether or not I wanted to move forward with that, or continue pushing with added assistance (e.g., forceps). Because my water had broken so long ago at this point, I knew we were running out of time before the risk of infection would increase. There were tears streaming down my face, and she asked me if I was okay or in any pain. I’m not sure why, but I so clearly can transport myself right back into that moment, seeing her looking down at me in the delivery bed, my voice sounding so small saying, “I’m just a little scared.” With a reassuring tone, kind eyes, and a gentle touch, she placed her hand on my arm and simply said, “I know.”

How beautiful it was that she did not try to convince me that my worry was unwarranted, or assure me that cesareans are completed all the time and that I had nothing to worry about. She allowed me to feel exactly what I was feeling in that moment, which was fear. And I believe that that simple gesture, of allowing me to exist in that fear but WITH support, is ultimately what allowed me to feel brave enough to agree to the procedure. It felt like the right decision for us—and it was.

Only 30 minutes later, I was ushered into the operating room with Tim in his scrubs by my side. I was given oxygen, additional medication was administered, and one of the surgeons asked me what music I would like him to play during the procedure. So with classic rock playing (my dad’s favorite), the procedure began. I felt no pain whatsoever, and time flew—before I knew it, I heard my daughter’s cry. That little cry was so strong and so beautiful that it brought me to tears. It was the happiest (and most relieved!) I have ever felt in my life.

While the surgeons stitched me up, Tim was allowed to go meet Adelaide on the “other side of the curtain.” (Before he left my side, he asked me if it was okay for him to meet her before me. He felt bad!) As I heard them talking about her dark hair and discussing her measurements, it felt like it was taking FOREVER for them to finish me up. (Tim assured me later that it was really only a few minutes.)

Finally, Tim brought Adelaide over to me. I will never forget the first time I saw her face, eyes wide open, dark and shining. I couldn’t believe she was ours! I stared at her in awe and adoration. I was in love.

I wish I could say that I spent the next several days in the hospital at that same level of maternal bliss—but frankly, the cesarean recovery was difficult for me. Because I hadn’t anticipated a C section, I had no idea what to expect. For example, I didn’t know that getting up and walking around would help me heal, so I didn’t walk for well over 12 hours after my procedure—and that first walk across the room and back to my bed was SO painful. (It was *almost* as bad as the worst of the contractions.) I also became sick from the medication and was essentially in constant pain for the first three days. This made it hard for me to bond with my newborn the way I imagined I would be able to in those first few days—and for a while after I got home from the hospital, I would replay the stay over and over again in my head and feel sad that my delivery and recovery went the way it did.

What helped me was talking about it. Telling my birth story. Talking about how scary the C section was for me, or how rough I found the first few days of the recovery. Remembering that I came out of it with a beautiful, healthy baby, but still allowing myself to do what my doctor had that January morning—to simply feel how I feel. To not try to over analyze it or compare it to the experiences of others, but to recognize it and work through it in my own time. In fact, writing it down again here has added another layer of perspective and healing to the experience.

We do plan to have more children one day, and I would be lying if I said that the way Adelaide’s delivery went doesn’t already make me nervous for my next. However, as moms say, no matter how those hours leading up to the birth turned out, I’d do it all over again if I had to because my child was worth it. Our children are our prize, our reminder that the most beautiful things can come at the end of our most trying times.

And so, with that being said, I can say that I am grateful to my birth experience for bringing my little girl into our world. Because now I get to be her mommy—and that is the greatest gift I could ever ask for.