I was so excited when I was pregnant with my first born. From picking out the name, creating the most ridiculous nursery a child could ask for, folding all the over-priced-soft-as-a-baby’s-bum blankets to designing the perfect labor, I did it all by the book.

My delivery plan was very important to me. I had decided on a natural birth, hired a doula and had my doctor sign off on the fact that I could do something forbidden like eat popsicles and gummy bears during my delivery. One of the most important things for me was hand picking each person that would be in the room during my joyous moments of child birth.

The list was easy. My mother, my grandmother, my aunt, my dearest friend Beth and of course, my husband and my lovely doula. Everyone was excited and couldn’t wait for the day when we would all share in the experience of bringing our little girl or little boy into the world.

May 28, 1995 rolled around and I awoke with a jolting pain that I knew was the start of my labor. The explosion of my breaking water made it’s presence known before I could even climb out of bed. Game. On. We timed the contractions with excitement, placed calls to everyone on our list and within a few hours we were on our way to the hospital. My family members somehow managed to arrive before us and I was greeted with the excited chaos that only a baby being born can induce.

Within the first hour of being in my tiny delivery room crammed with family, I started to feel the creeping in of annoyance. As I laid in the bed drug free, my doula whispering soft commands and helpful motivations in my ear as my uterus twisted itself into a pain inducing pretzel the likes I had never known, everyone else chatted about their day, laughing far too loud and completely ignoring the fact that I was fighting the urge to throw my two pound bag of gummy bears at them.

As the pain worsened, their festive presence grew more and more annoying. My doula, sensing the impending barrage of obscenities I was about to hurl their cheery unsuspecting way, calmly asked, “Are you still comfortable having everyone in the room?”

“NO,” I hissed through a contraction that seemed endless. “Get them out of here. NOW.”

I watched as she told my family the bad news. They looked at me with repulsion. How dare I? We had a plan. I averted my eyes and pretended to pull a hair off of my banana popsicle. I wanted them out and they weren’t going to guilt me into letting them stay. I needed a quiet, peaceful place. I wanted to dim the lights and hear nothing but the sound of my breath and the occasional curse word escaping my pained mouth.

Hours later we brought our sweet little boy into the word in a quiet and peaceful room filled only with the sound of his first scream, a beautiful disruption to our silence. Within minutes my family piled back in. The site of that sweet pink ball of perfection soothed any anger they felt at being dismissed.

I have had two more boys since. Both of those births took place in a quiet room filled with only my husband and a doula. Whatever your choice, make sure it is for you and no one else. And if you change your mind? Change it. Do what makes you happy. It might be the only time you have that experience. Make it the one you want.

Childbirth is such an incredible moment, and I’d love to know what went through your mind when you held your baby for the first time? By replying, you will be entered to win an exclusive Million Moms Challenge Gift Pack, which includes an iPad2, a custom-made Million Moms Challenge pendant and a $50 donation in your name to Global Giving.

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This is a sponsored conversation written by me on behalf of Million Moms Challenge. The opinions and text are all mine. Contest runs October 17 to November 13, 2011. A random winner will be announced by November 15, 2011.

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