The Birth: Warm and Fuzzy Addition

For you created my inmost being;
    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
    your works are wonderful,
    I know that full well.
¹⁵ My frame was not hidden from you
    when I was made in the secret place,
    when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
¹⁶ Your eyes saw my unformed body;
    all the days ordained for me were written in your book
    before one of them came to be.
¹⁷ How precious to me are your thoughts,^[a] God!
    How vast is the sum of them!
¹⁸ Were I to count them,
    they would outnumber the grains of sand—
    when I awake, I am still with you.

Psalm 139:13-18 

Ten days ago, I was the proud momma of a beautiful little boy. Now, I am the mother of two beautiful little boys. The birth was beautiful, perfect, and full of humor. For now, I'll wax poetic about all things soft and fuzzy, warm and wonderful.

I was a week overdue, and the contractions had stopped and started so many times I was afraid to say anything to anyone. But finally, finally they came hard. Hard. Hard and Heavy. As much as they (obviously) hurt, it was so good to know he was coming. For real this time. He was going to be in my arms instead of head-down on my ever stretching bladder and I was so very excited.

Making the drive was hilarious. For some reason, when I go into labor, I seem to react slower to things. I swear to you that my husband broke the sound barrier going to the hospital. He didn't. In fact, every time I begged him to slow down, he willingly complied. Every time I said "I love you" he would reply, "I love you, and you're beautiful" Oh, yeah... he was laying it on thick. We got to the triage, and they do this wonderful rape by instrumentation, I mean, cervical check, and I was at a 4. They asked me to walk for an hour. No problem. I was tired of being in the car.

But as we walked around one of the best, most beautiful hospitals in our state, my heart began to break. We were in the pediatric wing. The signs pointed and big beautiful doors opened to areas such as "pediatric cardiology" "pediatric oncology" "NICU" and, of course, a chapel. My heart sank for all the Moms and Dads that had spent time walking these halls, not expecting a miracle, but praying for one. Not in expectation of holding their son or daughter, but begging God for a chance to hold their child one more time, to see them ride a bike, or blow out a birthday candle.

Here I was, contractions were almost disabling, but I knew my son was healthy. His heart was whole; his body was beautifully formed, and we were just waiting. Days later, we were climbing the walls trying to get. out. of. there. I wasn't sick; my son wasn't sick. Hospitals are for sick people. Please just let me go home, make dinner, and sleep. Please just let us return to normal.

My husband was up for almost 36 hours before he finally was able to crash in the most uncomfortable chair on record. We had laughed and joked our way through an agonizing back labor and were now cozied into our recovery room. I held my son that night and sang to him. I wish I could say it was something Christian-y, but sometimes Bob Dylan says it best:

When the rain is blowin’ in your face

And the whole world is on your case

I could offer you a warm embrace

To make you feel my love.

When the evenin’ shadows and the stars appear

And there is no one there to dry your tears

I could hold you for a million years

To make you feel my love.

I know you haven’t made your mind up yet

But I will never do you wrong

I knew it from the moment that we met

No doubt in my mind where you belong.

I’d go hungry

I’d go black and blue

I’d go crawling down the avenue

No, there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do.

To make you feel my love.

To make you feel my love.

This isn't meant to sound preachy, but if you think about it today, reach out to someone that you know whose family has had to darken those hallways and pray for a miracle. Hug your children just a little tighter today. As my family finds our new normal, I find my coffee mug, and we find our way as a family of four, I know that my God is able to make all grace abound to us. I see those doors even now when I close my eyes, and pray for the surgeon that is about to operate on a heart the size of a Ping-Pong ball. While I'm still recovering physically, my child is "sleeping" in the swing beside me. My eldest is curled up into a ball of covers in his room, and all I can think of is how Good and Sweet and Wonderful our God is and pray for an extra measure of grace for all of us.

Next post will be the hilarious stuff of birth, but for now... cheers, mommas.