My daughter was born a week and a half ago, which means I’m in the midst of that happy but sleep-deprived haze characteristic of the first few weeks or months caring for a new baby. I think she looks like her big brother, but so far, that’s about the only thing they have in common.

Everyone says that every birth is different, and that was definitely the case for my two kids. Although I had a long labor with my son, his birth was about as easy and perfect as it could have been. I told my doula that if this birth went exactly like my first birth, I’d be happy.

My daughter’s birth, however, was nothing like my son’s. Labor didn’t start on its own, and I was induced at five days past my due date. The initial phase of the induction took much longer than expected and didn’t exactly progress as planned. The second phase of the induction was quick and intense. I was in active labor for just a few hours total, and I only pushed for about 20 minutes before her head was out.

Unfortunately, things went downhill immediately after that, when her shoulder got stuck — like, really stuck. It was an all-hands-on-deck situation, with numerous doctors and nurses pushing and pulling on me and her to try to get her out. After six or so minutes of this near-athletic effort, another obstetrician on the ward ran in and was eventually able to dislodge the shoulder using not one of the maneuvers formally taught to medical students, but basically just sheer force.

I cried with relief when they got her out, but her delivery wasn’t the end of the ordeal. My daughter didn’t breathe on her own for about five minutes after she was born (thankfully, our amazing medical team anticipated this possibility and acted quickly to prevent any loss of oxygen). When she finally cried, I cried. The forces required to free her shoulder caused a brachial plexus injury, causing her to temporarily lose the ability to move her right arm. Needless to say, the whole birth experience was quite an emotional roller coaster. It was a birth befitting 2020.

I’m especially grateful for a few things, in addition to the fact that we both made it through with relatively little harm. I’m glad I had a doula there to help keep me calm when things got crazy. I’m glad I didn’t opt for a home birth. I’m glad I had a doctor I knew and trusted.

Fortunately, M and I are both doing reasonably well. My physical recovery has been a bit more difficult this time, but not as bad as I thought it might be. Baby M is generally pretty chill except when she is hungry (which is often) or getting her diaper changed. Big brother D is totally in love with her.

M is quite a trooper — it’s pretty incredible that she is even here. She and her brother were both conceived through in vitro fertilization. From the eleven eggs that were retrieved, they were the only two viable embryos. M was cryopreserved for two and a half years before being thawed and transferred. There were so many steps in the process that could have gone wrong, but she survived them all — including that scary birth. I hope that’s a sign of her fortitude and resilience.

2020 has in many ways felt like a lost year. For the past five months, we’ve worked from home, haven’t seen our friends much, haven’t traveled anywhere, events have been cancelled, and at times the days have all seemed to run together. But M’s arrival has salvaged 2020 for me. Despite all the fear and despair in the world right now, 2020 is a year of new life, the year my little family became complete, the year my daughter made her debut. This may have been a year filled with darkness, but she brought light to it. So here’s to 2020, the year of M.