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I remember her hair, lying in sweat-sodden strings across her bare chest, her eyes wild with pain and fear as another contraction washed over her, consuming her. Her grunts of a massive effort seeming to hang in the air. With her husband at her side, this woman had never looked so beautiful, so alive.

She searched for something to cling to, something that would give her comfort, something that could carry her through the powerful storm raging inside, bringing forth the new life she had created out of a partnership of love and trust. She found it in her husband's eyes, holding tightly to his hand, tears running down her face. As the contraction abated she sagged, half limp against the pillows surrounding her, and a soft hand pressed a cold compress to her forehead. No one spoke; there was no need.

The next few contractions built up until the urge to push was irresistible. With gritted teeth, the woman squeezed her eyes shut against the colossal sensations and with a mighty effort, began to push her baby lower. Between feelings of determination and fear she found a place that was comfortable... at least comfortable enough for the task at hand. Again and again she bore down, bringing the tiny life ever closer to it's birth.

At the moment of crowning, the child's head on the verge of the world of life, a sound issued forth, torn from the woman's lungs with the power of the birth of her daughter. I remember the haunting quality of the sound she made, halfway between a scream of pain and a triumphant call back to those left behind. It was but a moment later that she held her little, crying infant for the first time. The sound she made next held the beauty of century-old church bells ringing on a wedding day. She laughed. The babe kicked and squirmed, unbundled against her bare skin, her tiny fists turning an exquisite pink, exercising her muscles in the new environment she found herself in. The woman's husband, a picture of joy and delight at seeing his newborn baby in his wife's arms, wiped at the tears he refused to shed, and grinned from ear to ear. In an instant, the pain, the fear, the uncertainty that had been birth at the onset of this mother's labor was forgotten, and had been replaced by the glory and beauty that is bringing life.

I remember this woman's story, poignant and bewitching in a way that can only be ascribed to birth as I ready myself to give birth to my own daughter. With excitement, fear, and an odd feeling of strength I await.

Learn more about this author, Nicole Hanson.
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