Okay, I've been starting and stopping this post for the past 3 months. Allow me to catch you up and finally finish this post. Disclaimer: There may be some long windedness in this post as I'm trying to write as fast as possible before baby wakes up!
Baby finally came! Labor was long. Delivery felt longer. Now I'm the proud momma of a beautiful baby boy. With this blessing has come some unexpected trials, things like: postpartum depression, actual sleepless nights, asking complete strangers for help, and feelings of loneliness just to name a few. On top of that, breastfeeding came a lot slower to me than expected and ended a lot earlier than intended. Calming a newborn is not as easy as it always looked. Now that we're almost 3 months in, I definitely feel like we're getting a better handle on things.
This journey has been one that has stretched, pressed and twisted me in ways I didn't know life could do. I've discovered a more fragile side of me that I didn't really know existed. Allow me to explain.
It was a Tuesday afternoon, my husband and I went to the family birth center at our local hospital to have my baby monitored in a routine, post-dates test. It was over a week past the due date and, needless to say, we were getting antsy. After being hooked up to the monitoring machinery for several hours, we were ready to go home, since it was clear there wasn't going to be anything abnormal to convince the nurses to start an induction. As we gathered our things and got ready to collect our paperwork, a nurse came in and asked if I'd be willing to be induced that day. After asking why, she explained that in the last hour of our waiting, the baby's heart rate had dropped to a dangerously low level and had stayed that low for a whole 5 minutes, indicating that there could be complications during birth if we waited much longer. I had come prepared to beg them to induce me that day anyway so I was more than happy to start the induction process. Yes! I was finally going to see/hold my baby!
I'll spare you the agony of waiting with minuscule details as Friday morning came and I was still hooked up to an IV being pumped with Pitocin, waiting for my body to do something relative to delivering my baby. I had been given breaks to eat and my water had been broken for me the night before, with no change. We had had a false alarm the day before which lead to me having an epidural for most of Thursday until we realized I wasn't as far along as was previously thought. Friday morning, I was checked again to find that my cervix had finally started dilating! This was the day! After 5 hours of pushing, several nurses pushing on my insides to encourage our son to get in the right position and my husband sweetly cheering me on, our baby boy was brought into the world. I was expecting a flood of love and joy for this sweet baby and an increased love for my wonderful husband to fill my mind and heart. Instead, I felt exhausted, a little cranky and just glad the ordeal was over. I don't remember if it was one of the nurses or my husband who said it but I was told, "See? I told you you could do hard things." I responded, "If someone tells me I can do hard things one more time, I might scream."
We were in the hospital 2 more days to give them time to monitor the beginnings of mine and my baby's recovery as it was categorized as a traumatic birth. After they were satisfied that we were on a good road to recovery and that there really wasn't any more they could do for us in the hospital, we were released. I remember getting home from the hospital feeling like a broken mess. My body had been torn in the worst way possible (so I'm told) and my spirit had taken such a beating that I was sure I was defeated. No matter what kind words/gestures/help/encouragement that was given to me, I felt alone, abandoned, and weaker than I've ever felt. How could God expect me to take care of this little one when I was so obviously inadequate to take care of myself? I couldn't go to the bathroom or shower by myself for a little while for fear that I would pass out from blood loss.
Many people from the church came to help hold my baby and keep him happy while I caught up on the sleep I had missed the night before. My husband got some leave time but had to spend some of it studying for a big exam he had coming up. We were living with my in-laws so they took care of a lot of the help I needed in the evening. I spent most days and nights crying either to myself or my husband about how broken I felt and how useless and pointless I felt.
Why am I giving you these details? I want you to understand the place I was in after my miracle of birth experience. I was broken, beaten and so scared. There were some hours where I asked my Father in Heaven to please just take me home to Him, as I was sure I couldn't do this mortal life anymore. This was a dark, and scary place. One that I hope no one enters but I know so many women silently (or not so silently) endure.
My husband gave me a priesthood blessing fairly soon after we arrived home and the gist of the words from this blessing have not left me since. I have been given a very small taste of what the Savior experienced for us. He truly is "a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief." (Isaiah 53:3) And it is through that sorrow and that suffering that I am becoming a stronger, happier, more selfless person. The light is coming back to my life once again (only partially due to better night routines, daily showers, and better eating). I am giving my life for my family and I joy in that giving. While I have been given hard things, I know that I can do all things in the Lord for I know in Whom I have trusted.
