Jack is turning 5 this month— and he wants the world to take note. When people lean in and tell my son, “You’re so cute,” he no longer smiles coyly and says,
“Thanks.” He corrects them: “No, I’m not. I’m big.” Jack wants to put growing up on fast-forward; I would prefer slow motion. I can’t believe how quickly he’s shed his baby ways. As we plan his big-boy birthday party, I’m reminded of the night he came into our lives.

We’ve all seen women during birth scenes on TV, but labor is a lot like the Grand Canyon—you need to experience it to understand what everybody’s talking about. My first contractions were dull aches in my back and abdomen that grew into waves of intense pain. They took my breath away. Soon our birth doula, Robin, arrived. Our dog, Abilene, squeezed close to me as my husband, Mike, timed my contractions and Robin talked me through the pain. When the waves peaked, Robin encouraged me to “vocalize.” Soon Abilene joined in, howling in time to my contractions.

They say the body has no memory of pain, and, indeed, my six hours of labor are a blur. I don’t recall much about my ride to the ER, but I do remember my doctor finally suggesting an epidural. Ah, some relief before pushing.  And push I did, but to no avail. At a certain point, my doctor said the word that every mom with a natural birth plan hopes to avoid: C-section. In seconds a team of people in scrubs surrounded me and whisked me into surgery while Mike held my hand. After the slow buildup, we had instant magic. Within minutes, we heard our newborn’s cry. Mike wanted me to be the first to touch our baby. “I did reach out and run my finger down his right foot,” he admits. When the nurse placed Jack near my face, I sang him the song I’d been singing to him for months, and he seemed happy to hear it again. We were all cheek-to-cheek as tears streamed down our faces. In shock and awe,
I was at a loss for words. Mike whispered, “Welcome to the world.”