It was the final week of September, 2022.
Atreus was days away from turning five months old,
And was also five months into his NICU journey.
There was talk of scheduling for a G-tube surgery and hernia repair,
To be set for later in October.
Afterwards, he would soon be discharged.
This excitement was already taking up a large amount of my attention
When a named storm began to approach Florida.
Hurricane Ian was a category four hurricane when it slammed into
The Gulf Coast, devastating Fort Myers.
The trajectory showed that the storm would cross Florida, heading north
And pass over Jacksonville.
After crossing the entire state, the winds would no longer be the threat.
Instead, it would be buckets of rain causing flash-floods
And making rivers and tides rise to dangerous levels.
Since the Baptist women’s and Wolfson’s Children’s hospital
Was perched right on the edge of the St. Johns River,
The risk of flooding meant that the hospital would close to visitors.
September 30th would be the first and only day
That I would miss a visit to my little NICU son.
I had been traveling 45 minutes each way
for nearly five straight months,
rain or shine,
on some days that I felt run down and exhausted,
and even on two consecutive days that I suffered from
horrible stomach cramping that may have been
some type of food poisoning.
This hurricane day would be my one day off,
Even though I still felt horribly guilty.
I could have chosen to go and be locked in with him.
But the boys at home outnumbered the one boy at the hospital
And my husband preferred my presence to help him
With our wild four-year-old and 18-month-old.
Waking up that morning,
I looked outside and realized it was already dark and rainy.
After a few moments of warming up my mind
I remembered that today I had nowhere to be
And I should just try to relax.
That was when something that had been nagging
At the back of mind all week
Finally reached the forefront:
My period was nearly a week late.
I tried to write it off.
While I was happy that my little baby would
Finally come home in the next month or so,
I was also anxious and stressed and exhausted.
This had been a long haul.
My two sons at home did not allow me much rest.
I was worried about all the ins and outs of caring for
A special needs micro-preemie.
And stress can delay the arrival of
“Mother Nature’s monthly gift”.
I had also been pumping exclusively,
Multiple times a day.
Breastfeeding is supposed to interfere with one’s cycle.
After I gave birth to Oliver, my cycle returned
within a month but was ten days late the second time.
I wasn’t sure if pumping was the same.
After all, I had been doing it since May 1,
And my monthly cycle had been fairly regular
Since it returned to me after Memorial Day.
The thought continued to nag me.
I did not even have any clear symptoms that its arrival was nearing.
No cramps, no bloating, no excessive desire to cry.
In the back of the bathroom closet,
I had a dilapidated little box of ovulation test strips.
In that box were two or three pregnancy test strips as well,
Thrown in as a courtesy from the company that makes these
Budget tests and sells them on Amazon.
I took one of the strips out, preferring to dip it in a cup
Instead of trying to hold it beneath myself.
I let it sit out on the counter, by the sink
I set the timer.
And I said an affirmation.
“I am content with my three boys. I don’t need any more children.”
Three minutes had passed and I did not see a second line.
When I was pregnant with my first baby,
That line showed up bright and bold almost immediately.
I didn’t see anything, and I decided
To breathe a sigh of relief.
My heart was still pounding away in my chest.
Fear was gripping me.
This was too close for comfort.
I hadn’t tried for another baby, or planned to.
We would most likely not have any more after how Atreus was born.
We live in a small apartment large enough for a married couple
But not really meant for a big family.
We only had a small SUV that barely fit three car seats across the back.
There was no safe or legal way to fit a fourth car seat in it.
We would have to buy a minivan,
And our credit and our finances were not looking good.
I didn’t even know where we would start.
But most of all, the most terrifying thought in my mind
was that after having my second baby, Oliver,
spontaneously at 36 weeks
followed by Atreus being born at only 24 weeks
after my water broke at 23 weeks for no good reason,
it didn’t seem like the odds of another baby making it to term
inside my jenkity, possibly broken uterus were very high.
In fact, it was possible that the next pregnancy would end
Long before 24 weeks and I would be dealing with
A second trimester loss instead of a barely viable NICU baby.
I didn’t want to face any of those things.
Two more minutes passed.
The test instructions said to wait five minutes.
If anything showed up after that,
It was defective.
If anything showed before, it would be positive.
I looked at it again and realized there was, indeed,
A very faint second line.
It was so faint that I could kind of cross my eyes
And make it so it wasn’t there at all.
Is that what I would do?
Go on with life and pretend it was just a fluke?
I showed it to my husband.
He was already up and playing on his computer.
“I took a test and there is a faint second line.
But that’s not accurate right?
It’s probably faulty right?”
He agreed, it probably was faulty.
After all, these tests were on the verge of expiring.
Later that night, I tried another test.
I waited the five minutes,
And once again, there was a faint second line.
What was I going to do?
It was a Friday.
The soonest I could call my OBGYN would be Monday.
Saturday the storm was long gone
and I could return to my NICU baby.
That is what I decided to do for the moment:
Focus fully on my little micro preemie.
He needed me. He was tiny and frail and
I was his advocate in this massive, scary world.
I couldn’t let something else-
even something potentially life-altering-
Distract me from him.
I spent the weekend focusing on Atreus’s care
and I also spent it in denial.
That call on Monday to the OBGYN was awkward.
When the scheduling associate answered the phone,
All I could come up with was “I need help”.
I had just been in that office only three months earlier
Sitting on one of the exam tables in one of the private rooms
Hanging my head
Solemnly telling my doctor of nearly ten years
That I was positive my reproductive system was broken.
His advice, which he spoke
in kind and warm tones which he’s so well known for,
was not to give up on having more children
If I chose later on to plan for them,
But for now to take at least a year and a half to heal
Before considering such an undertaking.
He then went on with the pitch he is supposed to give
Trying to sell me on an IUD.
Something about IUD’s always made me squirm.
Perhaps it was that my mother had told me
“It scrapes the fertilized egg off the inside walls,
Which means it’s a type of abortion.”
I didn’t even know if that was true or not,
But I couldn’t settle on it.
I also was highly sensitive to anything that tampered
with my natural hormone balance.
So I told him that I might get a Nexplanon,
Which goes in the arm and
according to a friend,
Was gentle, didn’t make you fat and made your period stop completely.
But I needed some time to decide.
That was where we left it.
Still, I didn’t plan to try for any more babies if at all.
Getting pregnant again would be against medical advice.
I could just see him, in my mind’s eye,
Standing with his hands on his hips and shaking his head.
He had never done such a thing
in response to anything that I had done
But I figured maybe this was going to be the first time
I would see the usually kind, gentle man be truly annoyed.
I made the appointment with the receptionist
For about a week from that day.
It was a week that, with my first two pregnancies,
I spent feeling anxious because I didn’t know
If there was going to be a baby there when they went in to look.
The first time, which was unplanned,
I didn’t know what to expect at all.
The second time, which was very planned,
I was anxious because I wanted another baby.
The third time, I had had a trip to the ER for bleeding
And I was truly distraught all week long
Because I was so certain my first “dating ultrasound”
Was going to reveal… nothing. Because there wasn’t a baby.
I was overjoyed when there was a baby.
This time, I wasn’t ready and this wasn’t planned.
So I felt like I could be fine either way.
If I went in and it turned out that it had indeed been a fluke,
I would get to go back to focusing fully on my special needs baby.
If I was pregnant,
It would be terrifying but somehow also heartwarming.
A beating heart is still a miracle,
Even if it does find itself inside the womb of a woman
who isn’t sure if she can even bring this child earthside.
And was also five months into his NICU journey.
There was talk of scheduling for a G-tube surgery and hernia repair,
To be set for later in October.
Afterwards, he would soon be discharged.
This excitement was already taking up a large amount of my attention
When a named storm began to approach Florida.
Hurricane Ian was a category four hurricane when it slammed into
The Gulf Coast, devastating Fort Myers.
The trajectory showed that the storm would cross Florida, heading north
And pass over Jacksonville.
After crossing the entire state, the winds would no longer be the threat.
Instead, it would be buckets of rain causing flash-floods
And making rivers and tides rise to dangerous levels.
Since the Baptist women’s and Wolfson’s Children’s hospital
Was perched right on the edge of the St. Johns River,
The risk of flooding meant that the hospital would close to visitors.
September 30th would be the first and only day
That I would miss a visit to my little NICU son.
I had been traveling 45 minutes each way
for nearly five straight months,
rain or shine,
on some days that I felt run down and exhausted,
and even on two consecutive days that I suffered from
horrible stomach cramping that may have been
some type of food poisoning.
This hurricane day would be my one day off,
Even though I still felt horribly guilty.
I could have chosen to go and be locked in with him.
But the boys at home outnumbered the one boy at the hospital
And my husband preferred my presence to help him
With our wild four-year-old and 18-month-old.
Waking up that morning,
I looked outside and realized it was already dark and rainy.
After a few moments of warming up my mind
I remembered that today I had nowhere to be
And I should just try to relax.
That was when something that had been nagging
At the back of mind all week
Finally reached the forefront:
My period was nearly a week late.
I tried to write it off.
While I was happy that my little baby would
Finally come home in the next month or so,
I was also anxious and stressed and exhausted.
This had been a long haul.
My two sons at home did not allow me much rest.
I was worried about all the ins and outs of caring for
A special needs micro-preemie.
And stress can delay the arrival of
“Mother Nature’s monthly gift”.
I had also been pumping exclusively,
Multiple times a day.
Breastfeeding is supposed to interfere with one’s cycle.
After I gave birth to Oliver, my cycle returned
within a month but was ten days late the second time.
I wasn’t sure if pumping was the same.
After all, I had been doing it since May 1,
And my monthly cycle had been fairly regular
Since it returned to me after Memorial Day.
The thought continued to nag me.
I did not even have any clear symptoms that its arrival was nearing.
No cramps, no bloating, no excessive desire to cry.
In the back of the bathroom closet,
I had a dilapidated little box of ovulation test strips.
In that box were two or three pregnancy test strips as well,
Thrown in as a courtesy from the company that makes these
Budget tests and sells them on Amazon.
I took one of the strips out, preferring to dip it in a cup
Instead of trying to hold it beneath myself.
I let it sit out on the counter, by the sink
I set the timer.
And I said an affirmation.
“I am content with my three boys. I don’t need any more children.”
Three minutes had passed and I did not see a second line.
When I was pregnant with my first baby,
That line showed up bright and bold almost immediately.
I didn’t see anything, and I decided
To breathe a sigh of relief.
My heart was still pounding away in my chest.
Fear was gripping me.
This was too close for comfort.
I hadn’t tried for another baby, or planned to.
We would most likely not have any more after how Atreus was born.
We live in a small apartment large enough for a married couple
But not really meant for a big family.
We only had a small SUV that barely fit three car seats across the back.
There was no safe or legal way to fit a fourth car seat in it.
We would have to buy a minivan,
And our credit and our finances were not looking good.
I didn’t even know where we would start.
But most of all, the most terrifying thought in my mind
was that after having my second baby, Oliver,
spontaneously at 36 weeks
followed by Atreus being born at only 24 weeks
after my water broke at 23 weeks for no good reason,
it didn’t seem like the odds of another baby making it to term
inside my jenkity, possibly broken uterus were very high.
In fact, it was possible that the next pregnancy would end
Long before 24 weeks and I would be dealing with
A second trimester loss instead of a barely viable NICU baby.
I didn’t want to face any of those things.
Two more minutes passed.
The test instructions said to wait five minutes.
If anything showed up after that,
It was defective.
If anything showed before, it would be positive.
I looked at it again and realized there was, indeed,
A very faint second line.
It was so faint that I could kind of cross my eyes
And make it so it wasn’t there at all.
Is that what I would do?
Go on with life and pretend it was just a fluke?
I showed it to my husband.
He was already up and playing on his computer.
“I took a test and there is a faint second line.
But that’s not accurate right?
It’s probably faulty right?”
He agreed, it probably was faulty.
After all, these tests were on the verge of expiring.
Later that night, I tried another test.
I waited the five minutes,
And once again, there was a faint second line.
What was I going to do?
It was a Friday.
The soonest I could call my OBGYN would be Monday.
Saturday the storm was long gone
and I could return to my NICU baby.
That is what I decided to do for the moment:
Focus fully on my little micro preemie.
He needed me. He was tiny and frail and
I was his advocate in this massive, scary world.
I couldn’t let something else-
even something potentially life-altering-
Distract me from him.
I spent the weekend focusing on Atreus’s care
and I also spent it in denial.
That call on Monday to the OBGYN was awkward.
When the scheduling associate answered the phone,
All I could come up with was “I need help”.
I had just been in that office only three months earlier
Sitting on one of the exam tables in one of the private rooms
Hanging my head
Solemnly telling my doctor of nearly ten years
That I was positive my reproductive system was broken.
His advice, which he spoke
in kind and warm tones which he’s so well known for,
was not to give up on having more children
If I chose later on to plan for them,
But for now to take at least a year and a half to heal
Before considering such an undertaking.
He then went on with the pitch he is supposed to give
Trying to sell me on an IUD.
Something about IUD’s always made me squirm.
Perhaps it was that my mother had told me
“It scrapes the fertilized egg off the inside walls,
Which means it’s a type of abortion.”
I didn’t even know if that was true or not,
But I couldn’t settle on it.
I also was highly sensitive to anything that tampered
with my natural hormone balance.
So I told him that I might get a Nexplanon,
Which goes in the arm and
according to a friend,
Was gentle, didn’t make you fat and made your period stop completely.
But I needed some time to decide.
That was where we left it.
Still, I didn’t plan to try for any more babies if at all.
Getting pregnant again would be against medical advice.
I could just see him, in my mind’s eye,
Standing with his hands on his hips and shaking his head.
He had never done such a thing
in response to anything that I had done
But I figured maybe this was going to be the first time
I would see the usually kind, gentle man be truly annoyed.
I made the appointment with the receptionist
For about a week from that day.
It was a week that, with my first two pregnancies,
I spent feeling anxious because I didn’t know
If there was going to be a baby there when they went in to look.
The first time, which was unplanned,
I didn’t know what to expect at all.
The second time, which was very planned,
I was anxious because I wanted another baby.
The third time, I had had a trip to the ER for bleeding
And I was truly distraught all week long
Because I was so certain my first “dating ultrasound”
Was going to reveal… nothing. Because there wasn’t a baby.
I was overjoyed when there was a baby.
This time, I wasn’t ready and this wasn’t planned.
So I felt like I could be fine either way.
If I went in and it turned out that it had indeed been a fluke,
I would get to go back to focusing fully on my special needs baby.
If I was pregnant,
It would be terrifying but somehow also heartwarming.
A beating heart is still a miracle,
Even if it does find itself inside the womb of a woman
who isn’t sure if she can even bring this child earthside.
The ultrasound revealed the tiniest little seed-sized embryo
With the tiniest flicker of a heartbeat.
The tech said it probably started just that day.
It could not have been more than five and a half weeks along.
I was surprised because I was sure
I was nearly seven weeks.
Now I wasn’t sure what to think or feel.
I was actually somewhat happy that there was a heartbeat
but was this thing so tiny because
it wasn’t growing correctly?
Was it not going to pan out in the end?
I kept thinking about how if it didn’t,
Though it would be sad,
It would mean I wouldn’t have to face
Possibly having another 24-weeker
Or worse.
I was given instructions to return in one week.
The second ultrasound revealed the embryo was growing
And catching up.
It now looked more like my other babies did at seven weeks.
I kept the image in my wallet,
Even though I didn’t know what was going to happen.
This was a 100 percent unplanned pregnancy.
But I thought about stories I had heard
From women who wanted a baby
but lost a baby early on
so the next time they became pregnant,
they embraced every single day they had with that baby
even though they weren’t sure if they would have enough days
to bring that baby into the world.
For awhile, I was teetering on a line
Between wanting to embrace what I had for however long I had it
And wanting to remain in denial.
Atreus would remain in the NICU for nearly another month.
Within that timeframe,
He would get surgery to install a G-tube and repair a hernia in his groin.
He would undergo testing to see if he could handle room air,
A car seat tolerance test and more.
I would need to go overnight to learn how to feed him with a pump.
I would need to practice for a few days after that
When the pump failed during that overnight trial.
I would also have to go to a private training at Nemours clinic
To learn how to administer an emergency injection of hydrocortisone
Should my baby get desperately sick.
Also during that same window of time,
There were fall celebrations to be had with my two sons at home.
We needed to go to a corn maze, a pumpkin patch,
A trunk or treat event at church, trick-or-treating on Halloween night.
My early pregnancy was still there through all of this,
And by the end of October made itself known with bouts of nausea.
But I didn’t make it the front-and-center of my life.
I said prayers for the baby and for my health.
But I didn’t let the future of the pregnancy rule my mind.
Atreus came home on November 4th,
Signaling the end of a difficult chapter.
But all was not smooth sailing just because he was home.
For part of November, I tried having a nurse come help us
Because it was a service covered by my insurance.
And I was fairly sick and tired.
Having the help was great, trying to integrate a person I didn’t know
Into my small apartment and chaotic family was not so much.
I was actually relieved when Atreus needed to spend a few days
At Wolfson’s for respiratory issues
And I could call the company and postpone the help.
It was scary to return to the hospital only a few weeks after our discharge
But the unplanned upset gave my husband a reason
To use a family leave act to take time off.
I told the nursing company that I would get back to them.
Ultimately, I decided I didn’t want to place my little baby
In the hands of a stranger all day.
He needed me and his father and his brothers.
He didn’t need to be stuck with more nurses.
During that chaotic two weeks of trying to find a rhythm
And having nurses in our small apartment
My OBGYN asked if I wanted the NIPT testing that,
At ten weeks of pregnancy, can show a panel of genetics
That will rule out any major syndromes,
Such as Downs Syndrome.
It could also tell the gender.
I had had it with my second and third babies.
I knew they were boys from before my bump
Was even large enough to really show.
I agreed to it, especially since my husband was
Like a child anxious for Christmas morning
When it came to potentially knowing the gender.
I picked up the little envelope from their office
Brought it home
And decided this time to make a video of us opening it together.
The last two babies, one or the other of us knew ahead.
Together we opened the little envelope and unfolded the card
Which said “It’s a….” with a picture of an old fashioned baby carriage on it
And together we were in shock when it said
“GIRL”.
Though we selected the spray cannisters of pink
instead of blue silly string
To spray all over the living room and our boys,
I didn’t fully believe it.
I had, after all, had three boys in a row.
We powered towards Christmas,
And my poor little son contracted two more illnesses
Which required another stay overnight at Wolfson’s.
It made me worry that he would miss his first Christmas.
Thankfully, he came home after only two days
And stayed healthy through Christmas Day and even New Years.
We did our usual holiday activities.
I drove us around to look at Christmas lights,
we went to the Christmas parade,
took photos with Santa,
attended a holiday festival at my son’s school,
and counted down to the big day
that we could all open presents under the tree.
By this time, I was established with a high-intervention OBGYN
In Jacksonville Beach.
On Christmas Day, I was 16 weeks along.
I was out of the first trimester
But heading down a dark tunnel.
This specialist doctor told me that weeks 16 to 24
Were the ones that I needed to be monitored most closely.
Those were the weeks that someone with a history
Of very preterm labor would most likely encounter a problem.
I was put on progesterone,
And required to come in regularly for ultrasounds.
They measured my cervix.
By the grace of God, it was measuring more than 4 centimeters long.
It was also tightly sealed.
Still, I felt a heaviness and a new kind of fear come over me
Starting on Christmas.
I remembered making a panicked visit to the ER
On the day after Christmas in 2021
Because I was six weeks along with Atreus,
And I was bleeding.
An early miscarriage would have been tragic,
But if I went into labor at 16 or 17 or even 20 weeks,
All hope would be lost.
There is not currently any kind of intervention
For a baby that tiny.
On New Year’s Day, 2023, when I was 17 weeks along,
We carried out our family tradition of taking a photo of my husband
Down on the beach with all of his boys.
That tradition started in 2019 with just one baby.
I pondered with cautious optimism if the 2024 photo
Would include a fourth baby.
Once New Years was past,
There were no more holidays to keep me distracted and busy.
How would I navigate through to late February
Without constantly having a mini panic attack
Every time there was
a twinge or a pang or any sort of moisture down below?
I found things to do to stay busy.
I threw myself into taking myself and my boys on miniature adventures.
We went to the big Jacksonville Zoo,
I went on a moms-night-out event with church,
We went to playgrounds we had not been to before,
Indoor playgrounds we liked,
I tried a few restaurants with friends
whom I had playdates with for my boys,
And I began taking Atreus to physical therapies every week.
And just before 20 weeks pregnant,
I went to the anatomy scan.
The tech said that I could believe the blood test
Because she did not see boy parts
between the baby’s legs this time.
It was official.
And on one of the final days of January, we sealed the deal
By driving up to a large Honda dealer in north Jacksonville
To pick up a used Odyssey van.
That same week, I cleaned out a closet in our apartment
And made it into a tiny nursery
So she wouldn’t have to share a room with three boys.
I was only 22 weeks pregnant at that time,
Still I wanted to feel “ready” even if she was born
two weeks later and didn’t come home for another six months.
In early February, I set up a mini family photoshoot.
We all wore pink and stood in front
of a wall on a building that was also pink.
It was our announcement photo for social media.
I had been keeping the baby a secret from the public eye
Until now.
My family and my husband’s family knew.
A few friends knew.
But for everyone else, I wore baggy sweaters.
I was finally ready, at nearly 24 weeks,
To announce this unexpected blessing.
Yet, I was still terrified.
Would I announce it on the 24 week mark,
Only to turn around a few days later
and tell the world
I had another micro-preemie situation?
At 24 weeks, I “graduated” from the high-intervention office.
My cervix still showed as being long enough
To sustain the pregnancy.
I didn’t have signs of labor.
Their part of the journey was complete,
And they left me in the hands of my regular OBGYN.
Their job was done,
But they left me at the threshold of the chapter
Where I had been handed
a terrifying NICU baby situation before.
Atreus was not only my third baby,
He was my third son.
By the time I was making my way through the pregnancy calendar
With him, I had gotten somewhat lazy.
I was only taking a picture of my bump
About once a month.
I had taken one at 20 weeks, the halfway mark.
I planned to take another at 24 weeks.
This was before everything went awry.
When my water broke at 23 weeks,
I decided that I would still take that picture when I reached 24 weeks.
I would just have to take it in the tiny hospital bathroom mirror.
I didn’t know I would be waking up to realize,
To my horror, that he was already on his way out
Early that morning.
There was a photo of him that evening,
His unbelievably tiny, fragile form lying entangled
In so many cords and tubes.
He was like a baby bird in a doll-sized diaper that
Still swallowed him up.
There never was a baby bump photo for 24 weeks.
When I finally reached the 24 week mark with this baby girl
Only 10 months later,
I decided I would document my belly every week.
We all wore pink and stood in front
of a wall on a building that was also pink.
It was our announcement photo for social media.
I had been keeping the baby a secret from the public eye
Until now.
My family and my husband’s family knew.
A few friends knew.
But for everyone else, I wore baggy sweaters.
I was finally ready, at nearly 24 weeks,
To announce this unexpected blessing.
Yet, I was still terrified.
Would I announce it on the 24 week mark,
Only to turn around a few days later
and tell the world
I had another micro-preemie situation?
At 24 weeks, I “graduated” from the high-intervention office.
My cervix still showed as being long enough
To sustain the pregnancy.
I didn’t have signs of labor.
Their part of the journey was complete,
And they left me in the hands of my regular OBGYN.
Their job was done,
But they left me at the threshold of the chapter
Where I had been handed
a terrifying NICU baby situation before.
Atreus was not only my third baby,
He was my third son.
By the time I was making my way through the pregnancy calendar
With him, I had gotten somewhat lazy.
I was only taking a picture of my bump
About once a month.
I had taken one at 20 weeks, the halfway mark.
I planned to take another at 24 weeks.
This was before everything went awry.
When my water broke at 23 weeks,
I decided that I would still take that picture when I reached 24 weeks.
I would just have to take it in the tiny hospital bathroom mirror.
I didn’t know I would be waking up to realize,
To my horror, that he was already on his way out
Early that morning.
There was a photo of him that evening,
His unbelievably tiny, fragile form lying entangled
In so many cords and tubes.
He was like a baby bird in a doll-sized diaper that
Still swallowed him up.
There never was a baby bump photo for 24 weeks.
When I finally reached the 24 week mark with this baby girl
Only 10 months later,
I decided I would document my belly every week.
I owed it to her, and I owed it to Atreus.
Every week still pregnant was an incredible blessing,
An answered prayer.
Every week still pregnant was an incredible blessing,
An answered prayer.
March ticked by.
I entered my third trimester.
My oldest son had spring break.
We celebrated my husband’s birthday at the end of the month.
April ticked by.
We celebrated my second son’s birthday.
We celebrated Atreus’s first Easter.
We began May by celebrating Atreus’s first birthday.
May ticked by.
We celebrated Mother’s Day with a brunch buffet and the beach,
Per my request.
I was 36 weeks along that day.
Oliver, my second son, was born at 36 weeks and two days.
I was almost full term now but I waited anxiously
For something to happen.
His labor started with a few days of low back pain,
Which I did not have this time.
Then, on the night he was born, my water broke
When I was using the bathroom.
Every time I would sit down to use the bathroom,
I half expected my water to break this time too.
It did not.
I turned 37 weeks and celebrated being officially full term.
The OBGYN did an ultrasound that determined
This baby was ahead in measurements.
She was already heavier than Oliver was at birth.
She had our blessing to be born any day.
Yet I would still feel dread and panic rise up in me
When I thought about going into labor.
It was as if my mind had been trained to think labor was bad.
At the OBGYN visit half-way between 38 and 39 weeks,
My doctor checked my cervix and said it was dilated 3 centimeters.
Given my history and the fact that the baby
Could actually be too large this time
He wanted to plan for me to be induced.
It was just like my first baby’s birth.
I would turn 39 weeks on that coming Sunday,
And hospitals don’t do those types of elective procedures
On weekend days
So he wanted me to be induced on Monday, June 5.
Monday June 5 was booked full, so it wound up being set
For Tuesday, June 6.
My 9th wedding anniversary was Wednesday, June 7.
For my anniversary, I would be having a baby.
My doctor, who delivered my firstborn but not my second or third,
Was excited to get to deliver another of my children.
He called it a “birthday party”.
I was feeling terrified.
I had flashbacks to that bright, sterile OR
The urgency of all the doctors
Pushing when I didn’t want to yet
My tiny, translucent-skinned baby gasping or crying but making no sound
Reaching out, desperate to hold him but he was taken away
My husband unsure if he was even alive
Feeling completely and utterly helpless and as if I’d failed
Because my body had failed him.
I didn’t feel like I could do it again.
Everyone around me reminded me this was different.
To me there were night-and-day differences,
But there were juxtapositions too.
That weekend I went to a mini retreat at someone’s house
By the river
For moms from my church who wanted to do leadership
For the moms group in the 2023-2024 season.
Many of them were surprised that I showed up,
Some because maybe I should have already gone into labor
And some because all of knew how uncomfortable it can be
To waddle around with heavy belly, aching joints.
It was a perfect distraction for me.
That’s how I had gotten through this whole entire journey.
Distractions.
And it had flown by.
The weekend was peaceful and fun.
I left there feeling mostly ready to meet my baby girl.
On June 6th, 2022, My husband and I walked calmly through the doors
Of the labor and delivery ward at my hospital.
It was 8:00 in the morning.
The interior of our hospital is still decorated as if it’s in the 1990’s
But it’s familiar and comfortable to me now.
There was no strange, dingy inner city facility.
There was no dread or panic.
I was not alone this time.
I changed into a hospital gown and sat on the bed in the room
With the special lights in the ceiling and the incubator in the corner.
After a little while, I was strapped to monitors and given and IV
With Pitocin in it.
My husband sat on the guest bed by the window, playing with a Nintendo switch.
At first nothing was happening,
But once I felt a little pain I decided to do something that to some women
May seem unorthodox:
I opted for an epidural early before truly suffering.
I was going to try to wait until it was absolutely needed
But I thought back to the long night lying writhing on a lonely hard cot
In a triage room, barely 24 weeks pregnant and terrified
And I decided I deserved a break this time.
The rest of the afternoon,
I got to be numb and somewhat relaxed
Eating Italian ice and broth
While watching my own progress on a monitor screen.
Progress still seemed slow.
And then, just like that….
It was nearly 5:00 and the waves of contractions were jumping
Up and down on the screen
I was suddenly woozy, lightheaded, nauseous
The nurses were checking my progress and I was ready.
It did not take me long to push at all.
My doctor was called to hurry in from his office,
Which was only one building behind the hospital.
My husband was standing by my side,
I was not in a strange bright room with doctors I didn’t know
And no family.
It only took a few moments,
A few of the most powerful pushes I could muster,
And the doctor was pulling her out.
At 6:10 pm, only eight hours after the process began,
she was laid on my chest.
She didn’t scream right away but her little whimpers told me
She was OK. She could breathe.
Her lungs worked.
She was so small, yet so much larger than Atreus.
She was perfect.
My baby Isla Rae.
Weighing seven pounds, 11 ounces
And measuring 20 inches long,
She gave me back everything
that had been taken away from me
when Atreus was born too soon.
The following two night and one-and-a-half days
Spent in the postpartum recovery ward
Were not necessarily easy.
Isla had a very shrill cry and the first night,
She cried at every little sound or if I left the room.
It would be a learning curve for me,
Even though I had just been here with Oliver
Two years before.
Her needs were different.
I would leave on the afternoon of
Thursday, June 8, exhausted.
But I left with my baby in my arms.
I was wheeled out of the hospital, in a wheelchair,
Per every maternity ward’s protocol,
But people were smiling at the tiny bundle in my arms
And wishing me congratulations.
My husband took a picture of me in the lobby.
The same picture was taken of me in 2018,
When I had Amaro
And 2021, when I had Oliver.
I climbed into the back seat of our van
Sitting next to the tiny figure tucked down in her car seat
Admiring her peaceful sleeping face
As my husband drove away from the hospital.
He headed towards home,
Our tiny apartment that held our large family,
Where I could spend hours sitting on our king-sized bed
With a newborn baby who would give me
Emotional and spiritual healing and
restore some of my peace.
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