I've been rather contemplative lately. Judah is now 10.5 months old, and I'm already gearing up to have another little baby. I'm stuck somewhere between believing that he is still a tiny little baby and knowing full well that he's well on his way to being a (semi) independent toddling boy. I have these moments when I can almost smell that newborn scent and feel that warm little body curled up on mine. It feels like it was yesterday. I look into those eyes and remember the very first sight I had of him - all fresh and confused, lying there on my abdomen, looking straight up into his mommy's eyes. Those big, beautiful, blue eyes that still look up into mine and tug on some of the most tender heartstrings I have ever known.
I've never really given a detailed account of Judah's birth on this blog, but I'm about to remedy that. He was born at 1:02 in the morning after a full day of contractions and labouring mostly in a hotel room. When we finally decided it was time to go to the hospital, I was 8-9 cm dilated. This surprised everyone because my contractions were still between 4 and 5 minutes apart. It was 9:00 at night. The last few hours were painful, exhilarating, terrifying, and seemingly never-ending. In two hours I was checked, and I was still only 9 cm dilated. I nearly gave up at this moment. It was too late for an epidural, too late for a c-section, too late for medication of any kind. I had been in the transition stage for at least two hours and was not any closer to being ready to push. Despair set in rather quickly, and as soon as it did, my midwife was there offering me "laughing" gas, doing everything in her power to keep me from giving up.
That's when it took a turn for the better. As soon as the gas (I really wish I knew what to call it) had entered my system, my body took control. I heard someone making a ghastly grunting/moaning/yelling noise and someone saying, "That's it! That's it! Let your body do it! PUSH!" It didn't take me very long to realize that I was doing the former and my midwife the latter. I opened my eyes to see Joey's calm, steady gaze fixed on me. There was a twinge of excitement in his eyes, and all the love in the world. I focused on his face - the one dearest to me in the whole world. I may have been slightly intoxicated, but I could finally feel the terrific power of my body and the miracle that was taking place without my stupid "reason" getting in the way. I finally realized that I was simply just a vessel that God was busy working a miracle through.
I've already described that beautiful little face I beheld mere moments after he had been born. And he was even more beautiful than even my loftiest dreams had prescribed. My body quickly relaxed, and I felt the effects of the previous 27 hours. I had lost a lot of blood, and my back was no longer functioning like a back should, but it was all eclipsed by the miracle of fresh life.
All of a sudden I understood the consequences of sin in a way I never had before ("I will surely multiply your pain in childbearing; in pain you shall bring forth children" Gen 3:16), and I was aware of how great a salvation Christ bought for me with His blood. I knew that I had brought forth my own son into a sinful world, and his sinful nature would well up not from "uncommon" misdeeds, but from the very core of who he is. Christ became more precious to me than ever before.
I will never forget those first sleepy and wonderful hours. I watched as my husband - my second self - cradled his new baby boy, his son. I cried big, hot tears of joy. I thanked my midwife a billion times over. And, finally, I held my little child to my bosom and felt that incomprehensible bond between a new mom and her new child. By 3:00 all of the nurses were out of our room, Judah was tightly swaddled in a plexiglass cart next to my pillow, and Joey was settling down in a reclinable easy chair for the rest of the night. Exhaustion completed it's task with all speed, and a heavy, dreamless sleep stole my consciousness.
But it was not a dead sleep. Some time later the tiny whimperings of a confused and scared (and rightfully so) baby roused me from my slumber. I could not have had above two hours of sleep in the last 24 hours, but all of my exhaustion seemed to have dissipated. I stroked Judah's tiny little head until he fell asleep, with me following suit soon after.
The morning came too quick, but thankfully both Joey and I had the thrill of discovering our new infant to keep us alert. We munched on lots of peanutbuttery toast (ok, maybe that was just me) and counted his toes, stroked his downy-smooth skin, breathed in his scent, and coveted his warmth. In short, we fell desperately in love with him.
The rest of our hospital stay lasted 2.5 days, mostly owing to the jaundice that had gripped little Judah and my midwife's unwillingness to let us go until she was certain he was on the mend. I am so grateful for her! All the same, that stay was emotionally draining. We were wonderfully cared for, but out of our comfort zone and desiring the comforts of our own bed and time to ourselves.
Those first days were so precious, so foreign, so trying, so good. They were the hardest days I have yet to experience in my short 21 years of life. I thank God for His goodness and provision. I thank Him for my baby boy.
It amazes me that I have been blessed to experience this miracle all over again. I look forward to meeting baby Nutmeg with great anticipation, but also with much anxiety. I do not expect my second birthing experience to happen exactly as Judah's did, and that's the bit that scares me. And yet, even though the unknown is Big and Ominous, I've got knowledge that gives me hope. It is this: God is Sovereign, and He knows. There is nothing more reassuring than that.
I love birth stories. :)
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