Miracle Of Childbirth Quotes

The midwife considers the miracle of childbirth as normal, and leaves it alone unless there's trouble. The obstetrician normally sees childbirth as trouble; if he leaves it alone, it's a miracle.

For me, the true miracle of childbirth is that smart, rational people with jobs and the ability to vote look at these half-melted fleshy blobs, their heads misshapen from being squeezed through a pelvis, covered in five types of horrendous gunk, looking like they’ve spent a good two hours rolling around on top of a deep-pan pizza, and honestly believe they look beautiful. It’s Darwinism in action, an irrational love for your progeny.

The birth of a child is divine miracle.

We come into the world through a man and a woman. But life blessings us with many fathers and mothers.

Life is a miracle.

A day of birth is a glorious event.

For me, the true miracle of childbirth is that smart, rational people with jobs and the ability to vote look at these half-melted fleshy blobs, their heads misshapen from being squeezed through a pelvis, covered in five types of horrendous gunk, looking like they’ve spent a good two hours rolling around on top of a deep-pan pizza, and honestly believe they look beautiful.

The moment of birth is a miracle .

The grace of fulfilled dream is phenomenal.

Supernatural is spiritual.

Quests are a huge inconvenience. Don't let anyone tell you differently, even if that person has experience. The problem is that people forget the pain and aggravation as soon as the quest ends successfully, and then they remember only the glorious parts. In this way quests are a bit like childbirth, even to the point of saying that quests often give birth to glory. Maybe.

Children are holy angels.

What you pray for today, will be manifest tomorrow.

At sacred-time, I will give birth to divine-twins in Jesus Name. Amen.

The sacred-time will hold my babies in my hand.

Birth is the greatest miracle.

The miracle of life they call it, and it truly is a miracle. The birth of my two children is the closest I have felt to God. I cannot explain it, but there is something about that moment when the baby comes out that is spellbinding and so pure, the most honest, incorruptible moment of my life.

For me, the true miracle of childbirth is that smart, rational people with jobs and the ability to vote look at these half-melted fleshy blobs, their heads misshapen from being squeezed through a pelvis, covered in five types of horrendous gunk, looking like they’ve spent a good two hours rolling around on top of a deep-pan pizza, and honestly believe they look beautiful. It’s Darwinism in action, an irrational love for your progeny. The same hardwired desire to keep the species going that sees them come back to labour ward for round two, eighteen months after the irreparable destruction of their perineum.

It was a quiet night. Until the screams began. It started with just one panicked yell that turned into many more. An entire village was woken up by the echoing screams. They gathered round to find out what the source of these noises could be. They found that it was from inside the house of Steve and Stephanie.   Inside that house, the screaming continued. Steve was pacing around, back and forth and then back and forth again, walking around nervously. He could hear Stephanie's screaming and he knew that she was in pain. This only made him hurt as well. He did not want her to be in pain but he also knew that it was necessary for pain to be experienced before the miracle of childbirth could be fulfilled. So, he waited, very impatiently, pacing back and forth worriedly some more.   It was hours later, when the full moon had moved to one side of the village, that the screaming finally stopped and the sound of crying began. A baby's first noises echoed throughout the house. Outside, the villagers cheered. Inside, Steve burst into a fit of his own tears. He could not help himself. They were tears of happiness that he had to shed for the birth of his child.   When Steve was finally allowed to see Stephanie and his newly born child, he saw that Stephanie was crying as well.

Why trust this account when humanity has never been so rich, so healthy, so long-lived? When fewer die in wars and childbirth than ever before—and more knowledge, more truth by way of science, was never so available to us all? When tender sympathies—for children, animals, alien religions, unknown, distant foreigners—swell daily? When hundreds of millions have been raised from wretched subsistence? When, in the West, even the middling poor recline in armchairs, charmed by music as they steer themselves down smooth highways at four times the speed of a galloping horse? When smallpox, polio, cholera, measles, high infant mortality, illiteracy, public executions and routine state torture have been banished from so many countries? Not so long ago, all these curses were everywhere. When solar panels and wind farms and nuclear energy and inventions not yet known will deliver us from the sewage of carbon dioxide, and GM crops will save us from the ravages of chemical farming and the poorest from starvation? When the worldwide migration to the cities will return vast tracts of land to wilderness, will lower birth rates, and rescue women from ignorant village patriarchs? What of the commonplace miracles that would make a manual labourer the envy of Caesar Augustus: pain-free dentistry, electric light, instant contact with people we love, with the best music the world has known, with the cuisine of a dozen cultures? We’re bloated with privileges and delights, as well as complaints, and the rest who are not will be soon.

If our suffering has a purpose, it is infinitely easier to bear than if our suffering has no purpose and no larger meaning. When a mother endures childbirth, she knows that it is leading to something life changing and glorious.

It was more than a miracle, it was the imagination of the Creator wrapped in the skin of a newborn babe.

Ladies. One of her least favorite words. It was the verbal equivalent of sanitary napkins. Utilitarian perhaps. But uncomfortable and artificial and never quite able to contain everything it was supposed to. And irrevocably linked with fifth grade health class. The week where the boys and girls were split up and a misleadingly titled film “The Miracle of Birth” dramatized the horrors of childbirth.