Nearly a week after our fourth baby's due date, I was concerned--mainly because my midwife had expressed concern. According to her, this baby hadn't dropped down at all; instead, he or she was just "floating around" high above my pelvis and showed no signs of being ready to come. I did what I could to help my body prepare for labor: taking long walks, swimming laps at my gym's pool (oh, the temporary joy of weightlessness!), and visiting my chiropractor to make any necessary adjustments.

The day our baby actually arrived, I underwent a non-stress test to ensure baby was staying healthy, then I did what many American families do before a birth: I stocked up on pantry staples at Costco (ha!). Finally, I made dinner for our au pair's parents, who were visiting from France. I was feeling a little tired and emotional, which was odd. By the time dinner was over, however, I was feeling something more physical than emotional--a little cramping, a bit jittery. I knew labor was close.

C'est un garçon! It's a boy--and he arrived this last Sunday! He was four days past his due date, so we were all feeling ready. Here's his birth story:

I've brought two children into the world, births where pain inextricably led to an overwhelming awe in meeting each child face to face. Their births were beautiful, a testament to God's grace, textbook examples of modern hospital birth in America without interventions. Yesterday I shared the story of my daughter's birth; today I share about the second time I became a mother.

My son's birth mimicked the hurtling of a bobsled, all rush and speed and intensity, yet still echoing the beauty of his sister's birth.

My first labor began in predawn darkness, burning contractions sweeping over my belly like a brushfire before dissipating into stillness. By evening, my husband and I decided the contractions were frequent enough to drive to the hospital. There I labored through the night, focused on enduring, knowing each contraction brought me closer to a life-changing embrace with our first child. My husband comforted me with gentle coaching, and a series of nurses entered regularly to chart vital signs--particularly since they'd allowed me to forgo an IV lock and internal exams.