Having given birth earlier this year, I now read the Christmas story with increased empathy.

I imagine the hardships Mary endured: traveling right before her due date, being turned away in Joseph's own hometown, and placing Jesus in a humble manger. Yet Mary still rejoiced greatly after welcoming her baby into the world.

To a lesser degree for most of us ordinary mothers, labor also encompasses great pain followed by greater joy. That is why we moms can easily recount our childbearing experiences.

After delivering our son, I had another tale to add to the universal collection of birth stories.

Even though our first child's delivery had gone smoothly, I knew that it was no guarantee for the second. Every birth is different.

Still, I was shocked when, almost two months before my due date, I went into pre-term labor.

Weeks passed on modified bed rest, then another month, and suddenly my due date was imminent.

Would our son actually arrive late?

Amazingly, however, around 4 a.m. on my exact due date, I began to go into labor. After only an hour, my contractions were noticeably increasing.

"It's time!" I declared to my husband.

Even though we thought we were prepared, everything did not go according to plan. The sitter who was scheduled to watch our toddler would be late because she was taking TheBus. Our neighbor came over instead, but just then the sitter arrived, too; she had decided to drive after all.

At this point, my normally prompt husband was still getting ready, and becoming unusually flustered. Finally, off we drove.

It was now shortly after 6 a.m., and my contractions were coming every few minutes. After arriving in the hospital parking lot, I glanced in the back seat.

"Where's the infant car seat?"

Immediately, and somewhat illogically, we returned home, praying that we would not be stuck in traffic. Thankfully around 7 a.m., we made it back to the hospital, but the snafus continued.

Only two days remained before the department was moving to a new location. Our birth plan was missing. I was transferred from one room ("You're too far along"), to another ("There's no monitoring system here"), and at last to our final destination.

At first the contractions were somewhat bearable. Then they weren't.

After my water broke, I yelled, squirmed, and seriously questioned why I had decided to do a natural birth again. Thank God for my husband, who, back to his usual placid demeanor, was coaching me through the entire process.

Finally I reached the pushing stage. This had meant the finish line with my firstborn; two sets of pushes and she came flying out. However, this time around, it felt like a prolonged continuation of the pain of transition. After our son arrived, we found out why. He was over 8 pounds.

At 9:10 a.m., merely five hours after starting labor, our son was born and we held him for the first time.

Although no star rose in the East and no shepherds came to visit, to us, our baby was a minor miracle to cherish and treasure. Now I can relate a little better to how Mary felt when holding her infant Jesus on that Christmas night long ago.

"God is love," I whisper, kissing our wee wonder good night.

Monica Quock Chan is a freelance writer who lives in Honolulu with her husband and children.