In the end, inasmuch as something as miraculous as a birth can be ordinary, Shep’s was — and that in itself was a miracle. That is the story I have to tell you today. When last we left off in my world of birthing, I had delivered our daughter via c-section a few days earlier than expected. Throughout my pregnancy with June, I kept my hands open — doing what I could to prepare for an unmedicated birth (hiring a doula, taking a birth class, reading up on all the things), but also realistic that I had no idea what the experience of labor would be like and that I might well choose to get an epidural. I felt fine either way, and sure that my worth wasn’t tied up in either outcome. What I never saw coming, however, was a c-section, and when June presented breech at 38 weeks, that’s exactly what I got. Our doctor’s pronouncement of an immediate surgery (because of low amniotic fluid) sent me reeling — with panic, fear, powerlessness, and sadness. The birth I had been anticipating was plucked from my hands and set out of reach, leaving me grasping for a reality that was no longer mine. That day I sat outside the doctor’s office and sobbed — because I didn’t feel ready, because I was anxious about our baby girl, because I was terrified of a c-section, and in mourning for the experience of giving birth I had been anticipating. If you’ve read June’s birth story, you know that a kind nurse’s casual remark was the spark that finally stemmed my tears: “You can always try for a VBAC next time!” she said. At once, all the possibilities I was reaching for seemed to come rushing back to me, and I was