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embarrassed. I hadn’t taken any birthing classes, and no one had taught me how to breathe or what to do to make it through the increasingly painful and difficult contractions.
    Whenever the doctor came to examine me, he sent Domingo out of the room. The nurses encouraged Domingo to go home. “It’s going to be a long time before the baby comes, so you might as well go home and get some rest.” I wasn’t happy that they told him to leave, but we thought we needed to do what we were told, so Domingo reluctantly left.
    Between contractions, as I lay in the labor room alone, I thought about my life. There was so much uncertainty about how life would change with a child in my arms. Would Domingo still drink and hurt me? Would he love our baby? Oh, I hoped he’d change. Maybe a child would give him the desire to stop drinking.
    Another strong contraction left me breathless.
    I prayed God would intervene in our marriage. “Please, God. Change my life and help me be a good mom.”
    Voices in the hallway broke off my prayer. “Two babies having a baby,” I heard my nurse say.
    Funny, I didn’t feel like a baby. I felt like a grown woman.
    A few hours later, Domingo was back, and I was really glad to see him. Not long after, he was sent home again. Domingo left, but he assured me he would return.
    After eighteen hours of hard labor—bleeding the entire time—I was exhausted and scared. But I thought my labor was hard because I had sinned and gotten pregnant. I wondered if God would ever forgive me. I had told no one about the guilt that sat so heavily in my heart.
    Again I heard voices whispering in the hallway about me, pieces of words that didn’t make sense—but clearly something wasn’t right. Was I going to make it? Was the baby?
    I didn’t want to be alone. I was in so much pain, and I wanted Domingo there. I knew he would tell me it would all be okay. Now I wondered if he would go out with his friends or if he would show up for the birth of his baby. I wanted him to be next to me. I needed to be loved and held, but I was so alone.
    As another powerful contraction took hold of my body, Domingo came into the room, the nurse trailing behind him.
    “Why don’t you do something to help her?” Domingo demanded.
    “We’d like to,” the nurse said. “But she’s hemorrhaging so much that the doctor doesn’t want to risk doing a C-section.”
    I was so exhausted, I had nothing left in me. After a few more contractions the doctor came in, examined me, and said, “If you don’t stop bleeding soon, we’ll be forced to take the baby any way we can.”
    I suppose I should have been scared. Instead, I rolled to my side obediently when the nurse came in to give me an epidural. Then she popped up the metal railings on either side of the bed and began to push me toward delivery. Domingo was told to wait outside.
    There was a flurry of activity as they set me up on the bed and covered me with a sheet. The doctor rolled a stool to the foot of the bed and sat on it. After a few contractions the doctor began yelling at the nurses because the baby wasn’t coming out.
    I was so naive that I didn’t understand all that was going on around me. I didn’t know how serious the situation was. Nor did I really care at this point. I don’t remember how long this went on, nor what the exact problem was that kept the baby from being delivered. I was numb and felt no pain. I was so out of it that it all felt like a dream.
    Then someone called out, “It’s a boy!”
    I moved to look at him and will never forget the feeling that completely flooded me when I saw my boy. “He’s so tiny,” I managed to say.
    At the same moment, the doctor and nurse said, “Tiny? He’s a big boy.”
    After wiping him down, they wrapped him in a blanket and laid him next to me, where I could feel his warmth. Oh, I fell completely in love with this little baby. It was then that I understood the beauty of giving birth. It’s the hardest pain a