Adara’s Labor Story

February 8th was supposed to be just another Saturday. I woke up, stretched, and brewed my usual cup of coffee. I hadn’t had coffee much during my pregnancy, but as I entered my third trimester, the cravings came back with a vengeance. Little did I know, by the end of the day, my life would be completely transformed in the most unexpected way. I was about to meet the little one who had been growing inside me for months the following day. That’s right— it was like my body was already preparing to go into labor, and nothing could have prepared me for the rollercoaster ride that followed. Here’s the story of how it all unfolded. Spoiler alert: It was nothing like I had imagined!

It was 38 weeks and 1 day—exactly when I thought I still had time before the baby came. But as I dragged myself out the door for class that morning, I felt something was off: I was tired, exhausted, and not the typical pregnancy fatigue. I knew I had a lot to do that day, but deep down, I had a hunch that something was about to shift. I didn’t know it yet, but I was going to meet my little girl very soon, and it wasn’t going to go anything like I’d imagined.

That day, I went through the motions, attending my class in the city despite feeling completely drained. I prayed through the whole train ride, barely keeping my eyes open. I knew this would be my last class before meeting Adara. Afterward, I went to grab a bite to eat, hoping the break would give me some energy. But, of course, life had other plans. 

My mom, as usual, was stressing about family plans. My brother, who was heading off to the military soon, was coming over that night, and Mom wanted us all to be together before he left. My mind was all over the place, managing both my mother’s expectations and my own looming fears. Add in a little argument with my husband over his old car breaking down, and suddenly, my day went from manageable to chaotic. I feared that the car wouldn’t start when it came time to go to the hospital, especially with the snowstorm heading our way. 

My hospital was an hour away (long story, but my insurance only covered the one affiliated with my job), and now I was stuck stressing about the weather, the car, and the impending birth of my baby. But as I later found out, I was stressing over things I didn’t need to. By the time I came home that evening, my husband had already handled the car, gone grocery shopping, and was prepping the house like it was D-day for the baby. We were cleaning the kitchen, organizing everything, and trying to get ready—though part of me hoped it wasn’t time yet due to the storm. 

At around 1:20 am, I woke up to what felt like a contraction. I’d experienced these before, but they’d never been this close together or intense. I rolled over, feeling something wet. At first, I thought it was just me peeing, but then I realized it was more than that—my water had broken. 

“Baby, we have a problem.” 

“A problem?” he mumbled, still half asleep.

“Yeah, I think my water just broke.”

He shot up, and as I got out of bed, a huge gush of water came rushing down. Panic set in, but we moved quickly. I showered, while my husband prepped everything by the door. I woke up my brother, and he woke up my son, who I thought would stay home while we went to the hospital, but he insisted on coming with us. Looking back, that was honestly the best decision.

We got in the car, and everything was covered in snow. I was already panicking about the old car not starting, and what was supposed to be an hour-long drive turned into an hour and a half. To top it off, my husband took a wrong turn, and we ended up getting lost for a few minutes. I texted my pastor to ask for prayers because it seemed like everything was going wrong at once. 

By the time we hit the road, my contractions were coming every 10 minutes… then 5 minutes… and finally, 3 minutes apart. I truly thought I was going to give birth in the car. But instead of panicking further, I started praying, worshiping, and focusing on one contraction at a time. The pain was there, but somehow, it became manageable.

When we finally made it to the hospital, I was whisked upstairs in a wheelchair. They checked me, and to my surprise, I was already 3 cm dilated. With my son, I didn’t even get to 2 cm before opting for an epidural, so I was surprised—and a little nervous. This time, I wanted to try going unmedicated, but fear crept in as the contractions intensified. I kept praying, asking God to guide me through this. His peace flooded over me, and I felt like I could do this. 

Hours flew by, and soon, I was at 6 cm. The contractions were so strong now that I couldn’t help but moan and hum through them. The birth ball became my best friend as I concentrated on one wave of pain at a time. But around 9.5 cm, I hit a breaking point. I felt desperate and thought the pain was going to escalate, but when my doctor checked me, she said I was almost there. Within minutes, I was ready to push.

"Alright, it’s time to push," the nurse said.

“I can’t,” I whimpered, overwhelmed.

“Yes, you can,” my husband reassured me, holding my hand. “We need to get her out.”

My legs were positioned, and the pushing began. But just when I thought I was almost there, the doctor said her heart rate was dropping, and we needed to get her out quickly. She asked for a vacuum, but I refused. I pushed harder than I ever had in my life, and within three pushes, Adara was born. Just like that. 

No medication. Just me, my husband, and God’s presence. 

I couldn’t believe it. I had done it. My miracle was in my arms. From the moment I found out I was pregnant to the day I gave birth, God’s presence had been with me every step of the way. Through every moment of fear, worry, and pain, He had guided me, and that’s what got me through. 

I gave birth to Adara, not just with strength but with grace. And that day, my world truly did change forever.