"You're doing great, Juliette." Easton massaged my shoulders between contractions. I'd been pushing for over an hour, and it seemed like the pushing would never stop.

I wondered if maybe the fact that I had an epidural and couldn't feel anything from the waist down may have contributed to this. How was I supposed to know if I was pushing right if I couldn't feel anything?

Maybe I shouldn't have pushed the epidural button so many times. I'd just been so afraid it would wear off.

"I don't know if I can do any more," I complained. I was exhausted.

"You're doing great. Just a few more pushes and his shoulders will be out," the doctor said.

The nurse watching the screen spoke. "A contraction’s coming. Deep breath in. And push for ten."

I clenched my jaw and pushed as long and as hard as I could as she counted down from ten all the way to one.

"Good," the nurse said, her voice way more positive than I had energy for. "His head’s out. Just one more push and his shoulders will be out."

My mom rubbed my hand. "You're almost done. You can do this."

I leaned my head back and looked up at the ceiling as I tried to catch my breath.

One more.

I could do one more.

I drew in a deep breath. When the nurse counted down from ten again, I gave it everything that I had.

And as I pushed, everyone else went quiet in the room.

"There he is," Mom said in a soft voice.

Then I heard him. My baby.

He was crying.

I looked down—though I was completely exhausted—and watched the doctor and nurse as they quickly suctioned out the baby’s mouth and nose. When they were done, Dr. Gunthrie smiled as she lifted the baby up.

“Do you want to hold him?”

I hadn't really decided if I wanted to hold the baby. Easton hadn't told me what he'd decided to do. But I suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to hold him. I had carried him inside me for almost nine months. I wanted to hold him in my arms. I needed it.

So I held out my arms to the doctor. “Yes. I want to hold him."

She smiled, and an instant later, my baby was on my chest. And all I could do was look at the warm little guy who was purplish pink with white creamy stuff all over him. I put one hand on his firm little body, the other running over his dark hair, and an overwhelming sense of love for him came crashing over me.

He was perfect.

I looked up to find Easton with tears in his eyes.

He smiled and bent close to my ear. "You did it, Juliette. You made a miracle happen." He kissed my cheek and rested his hand on our baby who was slowly opening his eyes now that his crying had stopped. He looked like he was taking in this new world of his.

And I couldn't keep from crying because I had done it. I’d made it through the hardest experience that I'd ever had to go through. And I got to hold this sweet baby in my arms. As I looked at him, I couldn't help but feel like all the tears, all the fights, all the frustration, and all the pain had been worth it. Because this baby was here. And he was beautiful.