The term "miracle of birth" gets bandied around a lot these days, usually by some hippy doula named, Impala. I'm sure 200 years ago when most families had enough people to fill the Staples Center, the saying didn't carry as much weight. Being childless myself, I haven't had the joy of cutting an umbilical cord, seeing the baby's eyes open for the first time, or having smelling salts placed under my nose as I pass out at the sight of a football-sized-object squeezing through a napkin-holder.
The images below are a reminder that for all the pain and gore, there is 10 times more beauty and joy.
The Darkest Hour Is Before The Dawn
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