The house is how we want it.
The baby clothes have been washed, sorted, and tucked neatly into drawers.
The crib stands ready, carefully assembled and decorated with love.
The nursery? Scrubbed from ceiling to floor… and back again.

Meals are planned.
Hospital bags are packed.
And now, we wait.

Oh, that dreaded wait.

The Last Stretch

By about week 32, Mika was officially over being pregnant. She was ready to get the show on the road and finally meet our precious girl.

Despite her exhaustion, we stuck to the weekly appointments and watched our not-so-little bean grow. Mika was diagnosed with gestational diabetes around week 20, so we knew Lyla might be a bit bigger than average. It wasn’t easy—especially for her first pregnancy—but we managed her sugar levels with a careful diet and regular walks. I joined her when I could (honestly, I could have done more), but we made it work.

Another concern was the looming risk of preeclampsia. Mika’s blood pressure kept creeping up, prompting weekly check-ins after week 32. Usually, hearing Lyla’s heartbeat helped it settle—but by week 37, it didn’t. Signs pointed to early-stage preeclampsia, and the doctor decided we’d induce at week 38.

That was the moment it all became real.
We were finally going to meet Lyla.

The Longest Week of Our Lives

I had taken vacation time to be home with Mika, making sure I wouldn’t be caught at work when baby time came. But somehow, that final week stretched into what felt like a month.

To stay busy—and sane—I assembled and rearranged baby toys, moved furniture (more times than I’d like to admit), and tried to find the perfect flow for the house. Mika kept walking, curb-stepping, and doing anything she could to help labor along. We were so ready.

It Begins

We checked into the hospital around 7 p.m. on a Monday. Mika was a trooper right from the start. She got settled in, and the initial cervical check showed… zero dilation. They placed medication to help things along and came back for the second dose six hours later.

I barely slept. Any time Mika stirred, my eyes snapped open.

By 7 a.m., I heard Mika and her mom moving around—the moment had come. Her water had broken.

The Hardest Part

From there, everything intensified. Contractions came hard and fast, and Mika was in pain. She asked for the epidural, and thankfully, they got it to her quickly. After that, we waited… and waited… until around 6:30 p.m. when she finally felt the urge to push.

She pushed for nearly an hour.

And then…
At 7:49 p.m., our daughter, Lyla Kay, was born.

I have never been prouder. Mika was amazing—strong, focused, and fierce. Even now, I can’t stop smiling just thinking about it.

A Scary Twist

Lyla’s arrival wasn’t without drama. On her way out, she twisted just enough to catch her shoulder on Mika’s pubic bone. The doctors had to reach in, push her back a little, rotate her, and help guide her out.

Funny enough, Mika had been asking them to “just pull her out already” for the last half hour. She got her wish—but it came with a heart-pounding moment.

Lyla had inhaled fluid and was struggling to breathe.

The silence in the room was deafening. We all leaned in, waiting, ears straining for that one sound.

And then—finally—a soft, muffled cry.

She was working for it, but she was breathing. Crying. Fighting.
That little girl was already showing us how strong she is.

The nurses quickly bundled her up and took her to the nursery for observation. I turned my attention to Mika, who had just gone through so much. I reassured her that Lyla was okay. The placenta was delivered without complications, soon after the nurse came to me.

“Do you want to go see your daughter?”

Of course I did.

Welcome to the World

By the time I saw Lyla in the nursery, she was breathing fine and looking around like she already had questions for the world. Soon, they brought her back to the room and placed her directly into Mika’s arms.

It was over.
She was here.
Our little girl.

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Final Thoughts

Writing this down brings it all rushing back—the nerves, the pride, the love, the waiting, the joy. If you’re reading this and preparing for your own little one, my advice is simple: be present, be patient, and be ready to love harder than you ever thought possible.

We’re just getting started—but already, I can’t imagine life without Lyla.