I was twenty-four years old when I gave birth to my first child.
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For nine months, I had imagined that moment a thousand different ways.
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I imagined my husband, Michael, crying when he saw our son for the first time. I imagined holding the baby against my chest while everyone around us smiled and congratulated us.
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But when my son was born, no one celebrated.
The room became strangely quiet.
I remember the doctor clearing his throat before speaking