It’s 8:30 pm and I’m sitting in the nursery rocking my baby to sleep.. Actually he’s been asleep for 10 minutes. And I can’t bring myself to put him down. I’m just staring at him. I can’t take my eyes off of his round, perfect little face.
How did this happen? I wonder.
My mind begins to wounder thinking about all the drama that has unfolded over the past few years. The infertility, the praying for two pink lines, the discouragement I felt after each time only one line appeared, the doctor appointments, the constant monitoring, the money, the praying, the hoping…
Then I begin thinking about the day I turned 35 weeks pregnant and delivered my son. (details here) I’ve been thinking about this day a lot lately for some reason. Sometimes I have moments where I become tearful, even now… almost 6 months later, thinking about how scary that day was. Sometimes I worry that his birthday will always be a day I remember how scared I felt that day.
And I begin thinking about the what if’s.
What if I wouldn’t have called my doctor when I didn’t feel him move those few hours? What if I ignored it until the next day? And the worst thought of all…
What if he wouldn’t have made it?
The rush of sadness, fear, anxiety, and disgust comes over me with these thoughts. How easy it would’ve been for me to push back until the next morning before calling the doctor. How easy it would’ve been to minimize the seriousness of my baby not moving. And I thank God I was in the most boring training of my entire adult life in which I was desperate for an excuse to leave. Or else… would I have left?
The decision to call the doctor was hard to make that day. I am not one to blow things out of proportion, be overly anxious, or worry too much. I’m kind of delusionally optimistic. Honestly, to the core of my soul, I did not feel like anything was wrong. (My instincts are seriously a piece of shit, apparently.) I didn’t even really tell anyone I was going except my mom and my husband, who I think was on the verge of divorcing me because I was being such a stubborn biotch about going. I didn’t want to make a big fuss over it. I didn’t want anyone to worry. It was fiiiiiiiine.
After 2 solid hours of intense monitoring I still had not taken my shoes off because I was sure I was going to be heading home any minute… and then I’m hit with the “we have to do an emergency c-section. Your baby still isn’t moving and you’re having contractions.”
The fear that rushed over me is difficult to explain. I remember the nurse repeating over and over again to take off my shirt so I could put on the gown but I couldn’t move. Everything is a blur. Everything happened so fast. But one thing I will never forget is when my sister arrived. About 1 minute before being rolled down for delivery. I didn’t even know she knew what was going on (#THANKSMOM!) I had not even talked to her! She just APPEARED. My sister was able to be with me during the scariest moment of my life. I’m so thankful I wasn’t alone. And within 20 minutes of that moment my beautiful and HEALTHY baby boy was born at 8:41pm.
My sister had to leave relatively shortly after the delivery to help gather stuff from my house and also, did I mention, she saves lives for a living? She was working on a case to retrieve some lungs for a dying patient and she had to stop what she was doing and come to my side. That girl is going straight to heaven.
How did this happen? I wonder.
Everything is a blur. I remember laying in the recovery room with weird compression pump things on my legs, a very painful incision in my belly, I was alone, and I had a baby who was sleeping down the hall. A BABY! I wasn’t even able to see him yet. And honestly, I didn’t even want to see him yet. I was sad he was here. If you had a scary, early delivery then you might understand. It’s hard to explain but I was sad. I wasn’t ready. And Brad wasn’t here with me. It felt weird to think I would go meet our baby without my husband.
My parents arrived at 1:00 am. They actually saw the baby before me. They told me he was beautiful.
And now, nearly 6 months have passed and thinking about that day makes me almost as worked up as the day it happened. Processing takes time. I’m not sure if or when the day will come that I don’t think of that day in terms of fear but rather happiness.
But for now I sit here in the nursery for far too long, rocking my baby to sleep for far too long, and staring at him for far too long… thinking…
I’m so lucky you happened.
Goodnight perfect baby who can do no wrong. I love you.