Eggcellent Mom Chronicles

There is something magical about every moment Beryl recognizes my voice. Her eyes search, her little head tilts, and then we find each other. Like soulmates meeting again every single time I sing to her. It is the strongest human connection I have ever felt.

There is something magical about watching her whole body calm down when I sing to her. Every moment she curls onto my chest and snuggles into me becomes a new favorite memory. Beryl is my whole world.

There are also moments where it’s hard to find the magic. Sleepless nights full of anxiety. Reflecting back on our birth story. Processing trauma while also holding overwhelming gratitude.

This is the point where you might want to stop reading, because it’s about to get a lot less magical and a lot more real.

First things first: I flipped her! Beryl was head down and ready to go.

I knew going into my induction that there would be moments that wouldn’t go to plan. What I wasn’t prepared for was the entire plan being tossed out the window.

The excitement and nervousness walking into Labor and Delivery on Wednesday evening was palpable. I was already trying to picture having a baby in my arms by Friday at the latest. My IV was placed, monitors were set up, and the first stage of induction began overnight.

By Thursday morning, I was 4 cm dilated and ready to start Pitocin, the synthetic oxytocin used to encourage contractions and dilation. Besides some mild contractions, I didn’t respond much to the first round and dose increases. So we called a mulligan, took an hour break for a quick meal Thursday afternoon, and began a new round of Pitocin that evening.

At 3 a.m. Friday, the news remained the same: minimal progress. I was offered a C-section then or the option to break my water to see if that would get things moving. Both interventions were things I had hoped to avoid, so I chose the lesser evil and consented to breaking my water.

Helloooo labor.

At 5 a.m., I was so excited. And then quickly delirious from the pain when the intense contractions began. I had the most compassionate and attentive nurse that day, along with my mom and a dear friend who came to support me as a doula. There is magic in women supporting women and offering comfort while the body prepares to bring life into the world. I will carry these women in my heart forever and teach Beryl to be as compassionate and strong as they are.

But back labor can absolutely suck it.

I tried the birth ball, different positions, and a warm shower. Nothing worked, and the vomiting became relentless. After eight hours, I asked for the epidural, and wow, what a magical cocktail that is. I don’t regret trying unmedicated labor because it was always something I wanted to experience, but modern medicine is truly a gift. I cried tears of relief when I finally had respite from the pain. I could breathe again and finally get some energy back with broth and a popsicle.

My team continued supporting me through physical and mental shifts to encourage labor to progress. Friday evening became a restless blur of sleep between constant monitoring and checks for both Beryl and me. Around 2 a.m., teams of nurses came rushing in multiple times because Beryl’s heart rate kept dropping. The sheer panic and horror of those moments was agony. Waiting to hear whether her heartbeat would rise again after each adjustment felt like living an entire lifetime over and over.

As dawn broke, my medical team told me it was time to seriously consider a C-section, though it still wasn’t considered urgent. I asked for more time, and we adjusted my Pitocin doses to see whether changing the levels would help labor progress. Back labor returned, even through the epidural, and the vomiting came back too. To me, those were hopeful signs. I thought my body was finally preparing to bring my baby girl into my arms.

But during the late morning check, the doctor came back in and said I was running out of time. It had been nearly 60 hours of labor and 32 hours with my water broken. The risks were increasing.

And then Beryl told us she needed to be earthside too.

I started leaking meconium, a sign she was becoming distressed. So through tears and fear, I consented to a C-section.

My team reassured me that I had done everything I possibly could to bring Beryl into this world in a way closer to my birth plan. I am proud of myself for advocating, laboring, and remaining faithful through it all.

Ever since settling on her name, I safeguarded it in my heart. I wanted to meet her first. I didn’t want judgment from people liking or disliking it. I wanted it to belong uniquely to her, just like the incredible women she is named after.

My Nana, Belle, who adored her family and lived a beautiful, long life. And my Grammy, Muriel, who was always ready with the next joke and family tradition.

It was then that I realized I needed to write her name down. What if something happened to me and no one knew her name? I don’t know how I found the strength to write it, fold the paper, and hand it to a nurse just in case. I knew what it meant if they needed that piece of paper.

Lying on the operating table and watching my mom walk into the room, I knew I was moments away from meeting a miracle.

Except then there was the pain.

I felt every cut, tug, tear, and pry. For some reason, the epidural, bolus, and pain medications didn’t work. The anesthesia team later told me they wanted to switch and put me under general anesthesia, but before the procedure I had explicitly asked them not to unless absolutely necessary.

And then she was out of my womb, and also suddenly out of the operating room. I remember watching the doors fly open and people running. I asked if she was okay and was told she was pink but needed oxygen.

The longest 17 minutes of my life.

Is my baby okay?

Why don’t I hear crying?

Baby girl, Mommy is here.

And then finally, they told me the NICU team had left and that my baby girl would be brought back in a few minutes.

I still get emotional thinking about the first time we shared skin-to-skin contact.

When we checked in Wednesday for the induction, I thought we’d be home by Saturday. Little did I know, I would still be pregnant for part of Saturday.

Throughout our almost week-long hospital stay, one constant remained: the unbelievable care from the Labor and Delivery team. It felt like family. Nurses and staff would return for their next shifts surprised I was still there, checking in on us, asking for baby updates, learning her name, and rooting for us every step of the way. It was exceptional care.

Tender loving care is exactly what we felt, and I hope to teach Beryl to give that same goodness back to the world. I even started feeling grateful when nurses returned for their next shifts and I recognized familiar faces.

One nurse who returned Monday had also been present during my C-section. She offered a plausible explanation for why my labor stalled. Beryl came out with her head tilted to one side, and she still prefers looking that way today. Most likely, she became stuck during labor and couldn’t complete the head turn necessary for delivery. Combined with my body being utterly exhausted and depleted, it created the perfect storm.

I still get emotional thinking about the trauma I need to process.

I’m frustrated that I still have six more weeks of injections twice a day because I hemorrhaged.

I’m mourning that breast feeding isn’t going to work for us, despite giving it everything I had.

But on the other hand, there is so much to be thankful for.

One of our first nights home, I told Beryl her story. I told her how she started as a tiny blastocyst of cells, how grateful we are for her donor, and about the wonderful women from Labor and Delivery who hugged us goodbye as we left the hospital. My little family of two, ready to take on the world.

I never knew my heart could beat for someone else this way. I never knew love could run this deep, or how natural it would feel to call myself a mom.

In the meantime, I’ve got to go kiss Beryl’s head because she’s lying on my chest. And I thank God every single day for this miracle.