On the morning of March 10, 2006, after a night of labor, my husband, Ron, and I met our daughter, Anina Harper Hart-Lemberger. She is one month old today and has finally allowed us to put her down for long enough for me to write this. It's been quite a month. We all prepare for childbirth, but having the baby-the breastfeeding, the strange hours, the inexplicable crying that tears at your heart-has been far more challenging. Perhaps that's because my birth experience was nothing like I'd expected.

On the evening of March 9th, after a long day that included coming to Jessica's yoga class for the first time in weeks, I was trying to get some rest before Ron came home with a pizza for us. All of a sudden, I felt a pop and a gush of liquid. Although I wasn't one hundred percent sure-after all, I've never done this before-I knew that my water had just broken. After calling Ron to tell him (his response? "Oh, well I have to cancel the pizza"), I got ready to go to the hospital.

Because my water had broken before I went into labor-and just over two weeks early-I knew that I'd be induced. By about 10pm, the IV was hooked up and the pitocin dripping in to my vein. Our doula told me that she expected to be there a long time, because it can take up to five hours for contractions to begin once the pitocin has been administered, but I guess Anina was just ready, because fifteen minutes later, I began to feel slight cramping in my abdomen. Contractions had begun. Because I trusted the doula so fully, I believed her when she said that labor on pitocin is completely different than had it started spontaneously and that I shouldn't even think about it, just go ahead and get the epidural.

Even though I wasn't in such terrible agony, I didn't have to be told twice, and about three and a half hours after getting induced, I got the epidural. What a blessing that technology is. I was comfortable and able to rest for the remainder of the night, and even when the baby went into distress (a common occurrence with inductions, I have since found out) and I had to take deep breaths and wear an oxygen mask, I could stay calm and focused, which meant that the doctors didn't have to administer any more medication to get her heartbeat regular again.

I had to wear the mask for hours that night, and towards morning, the baby was going into distress with every contraction. But when the resident checked, I was already fully effaced and nine centimeters dilated, so they just let me labor on, knowing that I would be pushing very soon. And I did. At around 7am, my doctor came in and the bed was suddenly surrounded by people: Ron, our doula, the doctor, a couple of nurses, plus a student nurse who was observing. All those women (and one man) yelling at me to push, push, just overwhelming me with sound.

At first I didn't know how. How surprising, to have to be told how to push another human being out of your body. But once I got the hang of it, it all went very quickly, only half an hour and the doctor was lifting a slimy, vernix covered, beautiful 6 lb. 4 oz. being out into the air. It was the most profound moment of my entire life. The baby had to be taken to the warming table to suction liquid out of her lungs, which was the hardest part of the entire experience for me; I wanted to see my baby, to hold her against my skin, and soon enough, Ron brought her over and laid her on my stomach. She was so tiny, so perfectly formed and so very loud.

Of course, birth is only the start of the adventure, and even though mine was, from start to finish, pretty much the opposite of what I'd expected, it was wonderful. I felt cared for and supported throughout, and I have never felt closer to my husband than at the moment he and I touched our child together for the first time. I hope every one of you has as positive an experience as I did, whether or not you get to use the skills that yoga has given you. Pretty soon you will all have the feeling I did: that in going through childbirth I'd entered a club I had no idea existed and that has changed me completely.
Good luck to you all.