Samantha K Schmidt

When our first child was born, I was so excited to share the story of how he made his way into this world. His birth went so smoothly and the process was full of so much joy. However, I’ve held off sharing the full details of our daughter’s birth for several reasons. Firstly, because parts of it are hard to relive. Secondly, because I never want anyone to think that I’m sharing the story in need of sympathy. Despite her birth being incredibly difficult, perhaps even traumatic, we are so incredibly grateful that we were able to bring our baby girl home. We know that this is not the story for everyone, and so I feel almost shameful even telling her story. However, I know that so often mothers come home with their babies greeted with fanfare and excitement, but what they feel deep down is sometimes completely void of joy. I feel for these mothers who are expected to revel in gratitude when they have just overcome both physical and emotional trauma. To those mothers, you are not alone...

No, this is not a biographical story about the late, great western actor. It's the story of how our son came into this world. At my 38 week appointment my doctor reluctantly told me that statistically speaking I would probably go past my due date. I knew that first babies often come late, but I kept hoping that my physical health prior to pregnancy (and the excessive amount of squats I'd been doing) would lend themselves to an early birth. As the week went on my husband and I were on a roller coaster of selfish desire. He had been gone several weeks and weekends over the past 2 months, and we were approaching the only uneventful week all summer. Not to mention I was counting the weeks left until school started knowing that taking time off would be an act of congress. On Sunday, July 16th, Eddie and I lay in bed discussing just how much we'd like our little man to make his debut. Not only would the timing work out nicely, but we felt ready. (Whatever that means.) We he...