My Work Here is Done

Part Two of On Your Mark, Get Set

I spent a while longer in that dreaded birthing suite. I experienced punching my mother in the face, (which I apologized for immediately,) my waters breaking, (weirdest sensation ever,) showering while in labor, and the type of contractions which are so close together that there isn’t really even a break in between. During this time I also remember screaming at Big Shot. For everything. I’d scream at him to get in the bathroom and help me shower, and then he’d walk in and I’d scream at him again, saying, “What are you doing, you idiot!? Can’t you see I’m having a shower?! Get out!” Poor guy. …At one point I was even screaming at him, demanding chocolate, which I think I had about three pieces of before I had to start pushing.

After a while of huffing and puffing, once this pushing business had been going on for about an hour with no results, a sudden feeling of danger overwhelmed me. It was such a strong instinctual, animal notion that I completely zoned into my body and what was going on. God had written this right in my heart and I had to alert the midwives immediately.

“Something’s not right. Something’s not right! The baby has turned!” No one believed my screaming and I was told to just keep pushing. I questioned myself. How could I know? Even though this was my body and my baby, I was definitely no expert.

I should have listened to my gut though, and to what God was saying, and not to everyone telling me what to do. With each big contraction I pushed as I was told to, as wrong as it felt, and I could feed my baby’s head being ground against bone. “I’m sorry,” I would whisper in my head each time. My own pain was nothing compared to the feeling of hurting my baby. It was as though I could feel his pain as well as my own. By the grace of God the doctor walked in, and straight away she made orders for me to be moved into the surgical theater. She questioned why none of the midwives had noticed the problem. I knew I had been right, and I felt terrible. My energy was extremely low, and everything around me became one massive blur of bright light and faces behind masks.

This was it.

It was not the intimate, peaceful homebirth I had hoped for- there were fifteen people in the room; specialist doctors, midwives, anesthetists and Big Shot, who was gripping my hand with tear- filled eyes. But I couldn’t care less about the audience around me.

The first time he was placed in my arms I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was the craziest feeling- as if my brain had forgotten what being pregnant was actually about. I had grown something amazing. And here he was; weighing six pounds, four ounces, inhaling his first breath of air at 11:11am. His two almond sapphires winked up at me, one ringed in a purple forcep mark matching the other on his head. A tiny wet fist gripped the tip of my index finger, too afraid to ever let go. I kissed his little warm head which was stained in my blood and tears through a light layer of blonde fuzz. When he nuzzled into me I closed my eyes and thanked God over and over. Our precious son was finally here. That hole in my heart had been filled by the boy from my dream, and all the love he brought with him to the world overflowed.

It’s hard to understand just why breastfeeding was so important to me, but it was. You see, when I lost my first baby, my mind, although it didn’t want to accept it, knew she was gone, but my body didn’t. It still wanted to feed a baby who was never there. It kind of felt as if I never got to fulfill that part of being a mother. So when the doctors went to put tubes in my baby my heart panicked.

“Just let me try to feed him myself,” I begged them.

Birthing has taught me a lot about the amazing way in which we have been designed, and to me is even further proof that there is a grand creator. Our instincts are like instruction manuals imprinted into us- into our very design and being, and tell us how to do this thing called life. God speaks to us not only as adults, but even as newborns, fresh into His world. The doctors told us Little Shot wouldn’t have a chance at eating on his own, being born so early and all, but I believe somewhere in him, God had said, “Eat and be nourished.” And so he did.

I’m so overjoyed that he was born safely and in good health. There was a large scar on the top of his head, which didn’t heal for five whole months, and I felt terrible each time I looked at it. Not because it looked bad or anything, but because it was a reminder to me that I should have trusted in God and what he was telling me to do. It’s a lesson I’ll never forget. Even if you’re in the most pain you’ve ever experienced, the best thing you can do is to let go of what you think, and hold tight to what you know- that even when you feel like you’re not strong enough, He always is. 

Little Shot was kept under glowing blue lights for the first part of his life, but made a fast recovery and gained weight quickly. It’s crazy to think how a person so small can change so much, without even trying. He is more incredible than he’ll ever know, but I’ll remind him every day.

Did it hurt? Like hell. Would I do it again? Absolutely.



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