This was not what I pictured the first moments with my son to be like.
There I was, savoring those first moments with him . . . squatting in the front seat of our parked car, en route to the hospital. In a grocery store parking lot, I waddled into the back of an ambulance with my fresh-from-God son for the remainder of the trip.
I was exposed and depleted, my body just ran a marathon of its own in childbirth. It was powerful—a pivotal moment in any woman’s life—yet vulnerable, my having to walk a few yards into an ambulance while EMTs held towels around me. Others took a break from their shopping to watch the spectacle, and police protected the scene.
It was an out-of-body experience. Something from the movies. Yet I was living it. How do I accept this as my reality—grieving the birth I wanted, while being thankful for the birth I was experiencing?