I could have named her Destiny, but she chose Veronica instead. This is our birth story, Veronica's destiny. It is a story of the soul striving towards its own completion, while imparting in the birth parents patience, faith and above all submission to all that is holy.

I found out I was pregnant nine months after we decided we wanted to have a baby. So, I felt like I had already gone through a pregnancy worth of labor; the labor of hopeful anticipation, watching the calendar, checking my temperature and the quality of my mucus, pre-menstrual excitement and anxiety, and disappointment when the bleeding began. After eight months of this routine I grew tired and quit actively waiting. I didn't guess that I was pregnant right away. I'd lost track of when my cycle was suppose to begin again. I remember vacationing on our wedding anniversary and not being able to zip my blue jeans. I cursed the aging process and vowed to begin a sit-up regime when I returned home. A week later, I realized that I was pregnant. This was my first lesson in patience and submission. As soon as I gave up trying, I got what I desired.

I immediately began the search for a midwife. I did an online search and wrote a half a dozen emails to midwives within 300 miles. I found none within a two-hour drive of our home. I got a number of negative replies from midwives who lived too far away. I considered going to The Farm and looked into the possibility of delivering at a birthing center near my in-laws. A midwife finally responded with a "maybe, if you don't find anyone else." She was planning on being out of state the two months prior to my due date, so her hesitation was warranted. When I read her first email, it felt right. Mentally, I thought it was a long shot considering her summer plans, but intuitively, it felt like I'd found an answer. Awaiting the birth with a midwife over two hours away was an exercise in faith. There were many points during the pregnancy, when we doubted that things would work out for her to attend the birth.

Very little went as I'd planned it during the pregnancy. Veronica had her own way. She was born on her time schedule and in her place. And who can argue with the name that is truth? Veronica is a Latin name meaning true image. In Latin vera means true, and iconica means image. Veronica has its origins in Christian folklore. According to a very old story, Christ stumbled twice while carrying his cross to Calvary. As he fell the second time, a woman in the crowd named Veronica came forward to wipe his brow with a clean linen cloth. When she was finished, she noticed that the bloody and sweaty face had left an imprint of Jesus' face behind on the cloth. So, in essence, Veronica is the face of Christ. She planned her birth; her father and I were just along for the ride.

I first knew that Veronica had a clear and strong destiny when I was four months pregnant. Coming home from a business trip, I totaled my car. I ran into a flatbed trailer going 55 mph. This was a point of submission for me. I realized that I was about to crash and knew that I could do nothing about it. I observed the impact with calm detachment. I was surprised to find myself still in my body after the accident. The incident left me with nothing more than a couple of bruises. The pregnancy was uncompromised, and Veronica and I became survivors together.

Surviving the accident prepared me for our next test of faith. An ultrasound showed a problem with Veronica's left hand. I went through periods of denial, hoping that the doctors were wrong, and paranoia, fearing that there may be other problems that the doctors were unable to detect. Ultimately, after three ultrasounds showing a missing hand but not picking up on any other abnormalities, I accepted the diagnosis for what it was. I already knew that Veronica was a survivor, and I believed that her soul chose her body for its own reasons and that the entire family would experience spiritual growth through this choice.

We planned a home birth, but as I explained already, very little went according to my plans. My husband, John, and I were renovating a house, which was coming along more slowly than we'd hoped. As the due date approached, the house was in such disorder from construction, that I wasn't comfortable in it. We'd been planning a water birth and had ordered a hot tub for the occasion two months prior to the due date. Delay after delay, prevented the hot tub from being delivered. I was becoming very frustrated with the home environment and the phantom hot tub when I found out that I was already three centimeters dilated. When I mentioned this to Sandra, she informed me that she didn't think that she could make it to our home in time.

The idea that we would not be able to have a midwife attended home birth really hit me hard. I felt depressed but said a prayer and released the problem to the universe. I initially felt like giving up, and my husband and I went to visit the hospital in town to consider the option of delivering there. The labor and delivery ward was under construction and looked less inviting than our home did at the time. Worse yet, the rules and regulations were so conservative that I found them to be unbearable. So we immediately disregarded the hospital option. John suggested that since I had been dilating for over a week already, we spend an extended weekend near our midwife and hope to deliver there.

She recommended the Stepan Inn, which is a nice little bed and breakfast owned by members of her church. We reserved a room for the weekend and went to her town on faith, believing we'd return home with a baby. John and I, along with my eight-year old daughter, Isabelle, spent a relaxing weekend together.

Labor started our last night there. My waters broke a few minutes after midnight. The contractions began quick and strong, lasting a minute and giving me a minute of rest in between. Our midwife arrived a half hour later. During the first hour of labor I was most comfortable walking around. I paced back and forth from the bedroom to the kitchen. Moving through the contractions seemed to keep me focused. After an hour the contractions became too intense to stay active through. Shortly after this point, I got into a big claw-foot tub. John stayed near me during the transition period, and our midwife woke Isabelle up to join us when I entered the pushing stage. I know Isabelle found the moaning and grunting associated with pushing to be disconcerting, but entering the second stage of labor was such a relief to me. I felt really good being able to "do" something. Trying not to push during the transition phase was the most difficult part for me. Veronica arrived in this world two hours after the waters broke, but we didn't name her Veronica yet.

Her middle name came quickly. We named her Irene after her great-grandmother, a strong, vital woman who lived to be a healthy one hundred. We waited several days before choosing a first name. Veronica had already made it onto the short list of girl's names, but we wanted a few days to observe our new baby girl and to get a feel for her personality. The name Veronica seemed right for her, and we told our midwife to put it on her birth certificate. A couple of weeks later she called to tell us that Sherri Stepan, the owner of the Stepan Inn, had revealed an interesting story to her. They had given all of the suites in the Inn family names a while back but hadn't yet put name plaques on the doors. She found it coincidental that Veronica was born in "Veronica's Suite". Of course, I don't believe in coincidence.

Afterbirth: Veronica is doing well and growing quickly. She is a true water-baby. Since being born in the bathtub, she has retained her love of the water. She enjoys the hot tub (which arrived two days after her birth) and has even gone swimming at the university natatorium.

Tanya is the mother of two homebirthed children and is presently devoting her free time to less fortunate children as the Volenteer Director of A Child's Desire (AChildsDesire.org) a charity which helps parents pay for the fees associated with adoption.