On January 10th, I found out my husband and I were expecting a baby.  Despite the *ahem* challenges of 2020, my pregnancy had been the one thing that had gone right. 


Everything was perfect.  

Weight – perfect.

Blood pressure – perfect.

Nausea – virtually nonexistent.

Baby’s growth – perfect.

Glucose test – passed.

Strep B test – negative.

Mood and cravings – in check.

At my 35-week pregnancy ultrasound, however, there was one problem. You could clearly see our baby girl’s head still stuck up in my ribs and her bottom stuck in my pelvis.  

No big deal, right? Babies are often breech until 37 weeks. We still had time for her to turn.  

We talked to our doctor and looked up things to do to try to help her turn.  

I did yoga.

I laid upside down.

My husband talked to her at the bottom of my stomach.

I laid down the stairs.

I put ice packs on the top of my stomach.

At 37 weeks, she was still breech.  


How could this be? We did everything right — everything we could!  

I was scheduled to have an external cephalic version (ECV) procedure done to attempt to turn her manually.  

We went to the hospital, and I took some medication to stop contractions. My doctor came in and began trying to turn her. She was stuck. She didn’t budge. The tears started flowing, and I couldn’t stop. Thankfully, my husband was there to comfort me when the doctor left.

Have you ever thought to yourself, “This isn’t supposed to happen to me”

Yeah. That. 

I was going to have a natural birth. We had done the birth class. We decided the risks of an epidural far outweighed the benefits. I’m tough. I was going to kill it. I was ready.  

A scheduled C-section, though? Not ready. 

This isn’t supposed to happen to me.

My body has already been through so much — 3 abdominal surgeries, multiple kidney stones, 16” of intestines taken out, an appendectomy… The thought of another surgery scared me to death and frustrated me beyond reason.  

But what else could I do?

Grieve, that’s what I did. For the entire day, I grieved the birth I no longer would have. I worried about how this would affect our baby — how this would affect me and my body? Would there be complications from my previous surgeries?  Would I be able to take care of our baby after having yet another major surgery? I know there are plenty of moms that do it (and rock it), but was I one of those moms?  Would I be able to breastfeed like I had hoped and planned?  How long would it be before I was back to “normal?” 

This isn’t supposed to happen to me. 

But it has. And here we are. A C-section scheduled for 39-and-a-half weeks. My mindset has shifted a bit. I’m still worried, and still would much rather have a natural birth. But I know that God is not surprised by this chain of events. Even though my plan hasn’t worked out, I am not the one in control of this pregnancy. Weirdly enough, I am at peace, and comforted by that fact. And hopefully, by the time this article is published, I will have a precious baby girl in my arms, instead of in my belly.  

And THAT is supposed to happen to me.