I’m winding down Micah’s pregnancy story and sharing today about his birth. To catch up on this story and others click HERE.
The morning of my section we arrived at the hospital just as planned.
And I was ready.
Ready for the book launch.
Ready to not be pregnant anymore.
Ready to meet Micah.
Well, almost ready to meet Micah.
Now that I was finally sitting still and hooked up to an IV, mom guilt began an all-out attack. I hadn’t spend the same kind of time preparing for Micah’s arrival as I had for Elijah or Noah.
Or for my book.
What if I hadn’t prayed enough? What if I hadn’t separated enough room in my heart? What if I had already missed something important because I was so wrapped up in my own things – my own dreams – to really experience this little one’s pregnancy?
What if? What if? What if?
I hate mom guilt.
It’s toxic, plain and simple. It poisons your thinking and steals your joy. It preys on you in unpredictable and inconvenient moments, leveling its ridiculous accusations.
I’m not enough.
I’ll never be enough.
This child needs more than the likes of me.
Yet here I was, moments away from meeting my little boy, giving it room in this sacred space of my heart.
The spinal block momentarily brought me to my senses with it’s awful burning pinch over and over and over until my legs and abdomen finally floated away into nothingness.
Here we go . . .
Up with the blue curtain and out with my arms, as the anesthesiologist gently fitted the oxygen around my ears and into my nose.
Deep breaths, honey. In and out.
I closed my eyes tight – the only thing I had control over anymore.
The worst part about a repeat c-section is that you already know what’s coming, and perhaps between babies had ventured to find out what happens on the other side of that thin blue paper curtain. (If you are one of the few who’ve kept virgin eyes and ears to the mysteries of OB surgery do yourself a favor and keep it that way.)
I’ll spare you the details of the actual section, suffice it to say I very strongly considered asking the doctor to just go ahead and tie my tubes while he was in there.
But oh, that moment I heard his first cry.
That moment wiped it all away.
The mom guilt. The book. The worry, and wondering, and stress. My baby was here – crying with his loud voice – and beautiful and healthy and mine.
The nurse brought him around the curtain fresh from my womb and all I remember thinking was that he was perfect. Here was this new person who had been rolling around stretching me from the inside out with those long strong legs and my heart fell beneath a tidal wave of love.
This was Micah.
My biggest baby at 7 lbs 1 ounce, with his ear still folded over from his tiny hidden space inside of me, and a strong full set of lungs. He cried, and cried, and cried. All through being washed up, weighed, and measured. He cried after they wrapped him and warmed him, and after they placed him in my husbands arms. He cried while they took him to my recovery room and I heard him crying while I lay still on the operating table his tears mixing with my own.
So much relief. So much joy. So much love.
Is he still crying?
My doctor looked up between stitches.
Hasn’t stopped. I think you’re in trouble.
I smiled. He was already making his way in this world. Already making sure we knew who he was. Not Elijah, not Noah, but Micah. My Micah.
The nurse wheeled me into recovery to find Mike with his head hanging down over our still screaming child.
Micah, Micah, it’s ok baby boy. I love you. Momma’s here. Momma’s here.
The nurse lifted him to my arm and placed him against my bare breast and in that instant his crying stopped.
We made it baby boy. We made it.
To be continued with the final installment of . . .