“You’re almost there. Push,” doctor Del Boca said, in the delivery room of Miami Baptist Hospital. 

I had arrived some hours earlier, after my water broke.  I chose to have an epidural and I was relaxed while the contractions grew closer and stronger.  The room was dimly lit and I could hear the baby’s heartbeat on the hospital’s monitor, a sound of galloping horses slowly rocking me to sleep. 

I wondered what she felt as she left what had been her warm cozy home for the past nine months. For so long I had wondered how the delivery would be, and at that point I realized that this was about her, not about me. 

After all, she was undergoing the most drastic change of her life.

“You’re doing great.  I’m so proud of you,” said Jean-Marc as he held my hand, his blue eyes looking into mine.  I squeezed his hand. 

I breathed in, I pushed and I saw the back of the baby’s little head, covered with hair, emerging from between my legs.  I was witnessing a miracle. 

Even before her body was out she started to cry loudly. A minute later she was out.

“Here’s your baby,” the doctor said, and placed her on my chest. 

A beautiful little face, with eyes as dark blue stones and a triangle-shaped mouth. I had spent months dreaming of her, wondering what she would like and dislike, if she would be shy or outgoing, if she would love books that way I do, but I had never imagined she would be that beautiful. 

Jean-Marc and I looked at her with amazement and the infinite, unconditional love you discover when you have a child. 

November 27, 2006, 3.46 a.m. The happiest moment of my life.