On April 22nd at 6:20 p.m., our sweet Mariana Belle entered the world weighing 9 pounds, 4 ounces and measuring 19.25 inches long. She was nearly a pound bigger than her big sister Avery had been, though about two inches shorter. From the moment she arrived, she was absolutely perfect.

The days leading up to her birth felt like one long lesson in patience.

For several days, I had been experiencing prodromal labor—contractions that would start, build, and then disappear. On Monday night, after my mom insisted that Mexican food might be just the thing to kick labor into gear, we headed to Superior Grill, my favorite restaurant.

That evening, contractions began to pick up. I texted my doula as they came every ten minutes or so, and for a few hours I wondered if this might finally be it. But around 3:30 a.m., they fizzled out completely.

I was disappointed, but not surprised.
By then I had been having contractions on and off for days. I spent Tuesday trying all the usual things—walking, doing the Mile Circuit, staying active, and carrying on with normal life. Then at 4:30 Wednesday morning, I woke up to stronger contractions. They were coming every six to seven minutes but only lasting about thirty seconds. They weren’t wrapping around my entire belly and back the way active labor contractions often do, so after texting both my doula and midwife, I tried to go back to sleep.
That morning, Andrew got up with Avery while I rested. Around 8 a.m., we took Avery for donuts, dropped her off at school, and headed to my midwife appointment.

During the appointment, I had a few contractions while they monitored the baby. Everything looked great. My midwife, Mira, smiled and said, “I think you’re going to have this baby tonight.”

At that point, I was done with predictions.
Everyone had been predicting an early baby for weeks, and here I was approaching 42 weeks pregnant. We talked through backup plans—a membrane sweep, herbal options, even the possibility of breaking my water if labor didn’t begin soon. I listened, but all I could think was how much I hoped Mariana would come on her own.

After the appointment, Andrew and I drove to our old house to finish packing the last few things the movers couldn’t take. I was still having contractions, but they weren’t intense enough to stop me from carrying boxes or chatting with neighbors. At one point, I had a contraction while sitting and talking with our neighbor Dale and his son Archie. I simply focused on my breathing while they carried on their conversation, completely unaware.

Life just kept moving around me.
We grabbed tea, returned home, and met my parents outside. While talking with my dad, a contraction hit that finally made me lean back, close my eyes, and focus. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was different.
Something was changing.

I told Andrew I should probably start timing them.

I took a hot bath and then tried to rest in bed. Meanwhile, life continued to be wonderfully chaotic around us. We had HVAC technicians replacing our AC unit, cleaning ductwork, and contractors coming and going through the house. At one point, two sweet HVAC workers came into our bedroom to clean a vent while I was quietly laboring through contractions on the bed. They tried so hard to be quiet while I rubbed my hips and breathed through increasingly intense contractions.

I remember laughing afterward that I spent part of early labor hanging out with HVAC technicians.

Around 1 p.m., I suddenly felt compelled to work through my mental checklist before active labor truly began. I showered, washed my hair, shaved my legs, and put on a comfortable birth gown my best friend Ebony had given me. Looking back, none of those things mattered—but at the time they felt very important.

By then, contractions were stronger. I had to bend over during some of them, but I still wasn’t convinced labor was really happening.

My mom dried my hair while I sat on a birth ball, and afterward I settled beside our bed with my pregnancy pillow. The contractions slowed for a bit, which worried me. I didn’t want labor to stall again.

Then I noticed something.

Every time I stood up, a contraction would come.

So I started standing and sitting repeatedly. Stand—contraction. Sit—rest. Stand—contraction.

Before long, they were five minutes apart and lasting close to a minute.

I sent a screenshot of my contraction timer to my doula, Catherine.

“Do you want me to come?” she asked.

For the first time, I said yes.

By around 3 p.m., Catherine arrived, and Andrew headed to pick up Avery from school. While he was gone, labor intensified. The contractions demanded my attention now.

When Andrew returned, Catherine thought we still had a couple of hours before heading to the birth center. He decided to take a quick shower.

Then everything changed.

I walked into the kitchen and had two powerful contractions back-to-back. After the second one, Catherine looked at me and asked what felt different.

I laughed and said, “I feel like I can see her head.”

Then I added, “I feel like I could push.”

Catherine immediately grabbed her phone.

“I think we should head to the birth center.”

At the same time, I desperately felt like I needed to use the bathroom. Catherine very gently but firmly discouraged that idea. She suspected what I was feeling wasn’t actually a need to use the bathroom—it was my baby moving down.

Suddenly, everyone sprang into action.

My parents filled water bottles and electrolyte drinks. Towels and supplies appeared. Andrew backed the car into the driveway.

Within minutes, we were on our way.

The drive to the birth center was the hardest part of labor up to that point. Contractions in the car felt miserable. I squeezed birth combs Catherine had given me and focused on breathing through each wave.

We arrived around 4:45 p.m.

After the initial assessments, they finally let me go to the bathroom. The relief was immediate. As I sat there, my water broke.

There was no turning back now.

The midwives suggested I get into the large birthing tub, and I practically ripped off my gown before climbing in.

The warm water felt wonderful between contractions, but during them I struggled to find a comfortable position. On my back wasn’t right. On hands and knees wasn’t right. Nothing felt right.

After about twenty minutes, I climbed out.

Almost immediately, I told everyone I needed to use the bathroom again.

“Meredith,” they gently said, “your baby is coming.”

I labored on all fours beside the tub, then briefly tried the birth stool. That ended quickly when I accidentally pinched a hemorrhoid and yelped loud enough for everyone to know exactly what had happened.

The birth stool was officially off the list.

Eventually, I spotted the bed and asked if I could get on it.

Andrew wrapped his arms around me and helped carry my weight as we made our way over. I climbed onto all fours and leaned into a birth ball. Between contractions, I collapsed onto it completely.

Then came the urge to push.

At first, I resisted.

The midwives coached me to direct my energy downward instead of releasing it through loud sounds. They encouraged me to wait for the contraction to build and then bear down.

I prayed constantly.

“Help me surrender. Lead me and guide me, Holy Spirit.”

Every time I prayed those words, I found the courage to push.

“God, help me.”

Catherine kept reminding me He was.

Soon the midwives could see Mariana’s hair.

They encouraged me to reach down and touch her. Somehow I managed to feel her head, and that moment gave me an incredible surge of determination.

Andrew moved behind me to prepare to catch her.

The room grew focused and calm.

Between contractions, I rested completely on the birth ball. During them, I gripped it with every ounce of strength I had.

The midwives had me move into lunging positions to help open my pelvis. I hated every second of it, but they could see Mariana moving lower with each adjustment.

Then her head emerged.

Andrew cupped it gently in his hands.

I stopped pushing for a moment, and he later told me he was worried because her head began turning purple. The midwives reassured him she was still receiving oxygen through the cord.

Then he started narrating everything he could see.

“Baby, I can see her eyes!”

“I can see her nose!”

“Her head is out!”

His excitement was contagious. He sounded like someone cheering at the biggest game of his life, and honestly, that’s exactly what it was.

The midwives encouraged me to get one leg back up. I had no idea how I was supposed to do that.

Laney, one of the student midwives, smiled and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll help you.”

She lifted my leg into position.

The next contraction came.

I pushed.

Her shoulders cleared.

One more push.

At 6:20 p.m., Mariana Belle was born into her daddy’s hands.

Three hours after active labor began.

Just one hour and forty-five minutes after arriving at the birth center.

The moment she arrived, everything became quiet.

Perfect.

Sacred.

We spent our first hour together simply soaking in the miracle of her arrival. Eventually, the staff completed their assessments, I walked around a little, and Andrew walked down the street to grab dinner. He later told me how surreal it felt to leave the peaceful birth room and immediately find himself ordering food next to people enjoying a night out, completely unaware that he had just caught his daughter moments earlier.

Late that evening, we packed up and headed home as a family of four.

Looking back, I am overwhelmed by gratitude.

For Andrew, who caught his daughter with his own hands.

For Catherine, who guided me through every contraction.

For Mira, Laney, and Taylor, who were exactly the right people to be in the room that day.

And for the way God answered every prayer for strength, courage, and surrender.

Mariana’s birth was intense, fast, empowering, and beautiful.

And just like that, our sweet girl was finally here.