Our journey to parenthood began a few months before Luna arrived. Our first pregnancy was in August 2018, but it ended heartbreakingly as a blighted ovum, and I miscarried while we were on our way to Spain in September. Before that, we had been unsure about whether we even wanted children. But experiencing a miscarriage changed everything—it solidified our desire to become parents. The weeks that followed were heavy with grief and sadness. We took the time to mourn, allowing ourselves to feel the loss fully before trying again. After a few months of intentional effort, we were overjoyed to discover we were expecting once more.
We found out we were pregnant with Luna very early, at just four weeks. Excitement filled us, though we kept the news private until the first trimester was safely behind us. The first half of pregnancy was brutal for me—I was sick nearly every day, often vomiting relentlessly. Many hours were spent hunched over the porcelain throne, and I lost ten pounds. Going to work as a nurse felt like an endurance test, trying not to vomit in front of patients. Everyone guessed I was having a girl because of the morning sickness, but my stubborn self refused to believe them.
In my family, there’s a running joke about being “cursed” with girls. I’m the youngest of four sisters, and my only sister with children has three girls. According to family lore, boys just aren’t meant for us—girls are here to take over the world. So, at my 20-week anatomy scan, it came as no surprise when we found out Luna was a girl. Even my doctor, who usually liked to challenge assumptions, confirmed it with a grin: “There will be no living with your mother after this,” he joked.
After the morning sickness finally subsided around week 24, the rest of my pregnancy was smooth sailing. I didn’t experience wild cravings, nor did I feel compelled to “eat for two.” My sisters and coworkers often commented that I didn’t “look” pregnant, to which I’d simply reply, “Believe me, the bump is there.” By my 37-week appointment, my doctor noted that Luna was measuring large. With an estimated weight of around eight pounds, she confirmed my suspicion: we were having a big baby. We decided to continue as planned, trusting that Luna would arrive when she was ready. But 39 weeks passed, then 40, with very few signs of labor. Although I was dilating, which offered hope, I was scheduled for an induction at 41 weeks.
The night of the induction, we arrived at the hospital at 9:30 p.m., and as expected, it was busy. We waited an hour for a room, which was completely understandable. Once admitted, our nurse, Anne, explained the plan: start Pitocin, administer an epidural when needed, and break my water at the appropriate time. My doctor understood my birth plan perfectly—essentially, we didn’t have one—and I trusted them fully to bring Luna into the world safely.
The night went as planned until the next morning, when my epidural began wearing off. Despite self-administered boluses and the anesthesiologist’s attempts to redose, the pain persisted. I started pushing around 1 p.m. on Friday the 15th, but three hours of effort yielded no progress. My nurse was incredible, constantly updating the doctor and doing everything she could to keep me calm, but frustration and exhaustion set in. Ultimately, it was determined that I would need an emergent C-section.
Having witnessed a few C-sections during nursing school, I thought I had an idea of what to expect—but nothing prepared me for my own. The anesthesiologist began the spinal block while the doctor tested my numbness, prompting me to joke, “I ain’t got no legs, Lieutenant Dan.” The block took longer than expected, and there was a warning that I might need to be intubated—but thankfully, that didn’t happen.
Once in the OR, I experienced shakes from the medication, but the surgery itself was smooth. Though I couldn’t see much beyond the curtain, hearing Luna’s scream for the first time was pure music. One doctor exclaimed, “It’s a linebacker!” while another confirmed, “It’s a girl!” The first doctor quickly added, “Girls can be linebackers too!” When they finally showed her to me, I couldn’t help but think, “That is a mean mug.”
My husband went to check on Luna, but soon returned to my side. I was struggling mentally—feeling confined and with things close to my face triggered a panic attack. The anesthesiologist patiently tried to help with a nasal cannula and vomit bag, but the proximity overwhelmed me. Only when my doctor allowed me to sit up and remove the drape did I start to feel better. Once moved to the recovery bed, I finally rested while my husband marveled over our daughter.
The following day, family came to visit. With cameras ready and everyone taking turns holding “the potato,” we noticed her expression: unimpressed and clearly unhappy about being evicted from the womb. Watching her little face, I told my husband, “Check out that face.” She had inherited his serious “mean mug,” but somehow made it look adorable.
Every day brought laughter at her unamused expressions, especially when the mamaRoo didn’t quite meet her standards. For the next week, we focused on capturing newborn photos. We discovered Justine Tuhy Photography and loved her gallery of tiny wrapped bundles. On the 2nd, we welcomed Justine into our home, letting her work her magic while we sat back with cheese crackers, battling exhaustion. Justine mentioned how alert Luna was during the shoot and how she made funny faces throughout.
The next day, we received the photos and instantly fell in love all over again. Luna’s personality shone through in every image—a little girl with a strong presence, already showing us her unique spirit.
