Our son arrived at 11:35 pm on August 21, 8 lbs 1 oz and 20 inches of kicking, deep-throated vigor.

Briefly, here is our birth story.

Pregnancy wasn’t too bad, and by 3 weeks out from the due date, he was well-positioned and things were progressing. But a week later, he had moved. In fact, he kept moving up until delivery. We had several ultrasounds which showed his range of motion – from breech to transverse, even moving significantly between the ultrasound and the doctor’s visit minutes later! My doctor moved him into position a few times, but he never stayed long. We agreed to wait, watch, and see.

His due date came and went. He still flipped! But labor was nowhere near. Finally, we scheduled a c-section for a few days after 41 weeks.

That morning emotions were intense. Surgery was set for 4 pm. At 3:45, my doctor came in for one last ultrasound – and Baby was in position, head down!

It took a few minutes to develop a new plan, but we agreed to induce. Pills, pitocin, panic, and an epidural later, I was pushing for an hour, my husband holding one limp leg, our fabulous nurse holding the other. And then, through myopic eyes (since no amount of Nerd Wax could keep my glasses on under the oxygen mask), a slippery, wriggling thing spun into the world and defiantly claimed his stake in life.

I am skipping some of the details – the bruises on his head from hitting my pelvis with each push; the NICU personnel on hand since we discovered meconium in the water when the doctor finally broke it; the emotions and second-guessing that eventually led to choosing every intervention despite being well-informed on best-case natural birth scenarios. I don’t want to dwell on those unpleasantries but rather be thankful for a safe, healthy baby and a speedy recovery for me.

Life has changed. We are grateful for every supportive friend, family member, and awesome medical professional. Never have I felt so helpless, dependent, and needy. Never have I seen my husband in such form. I have fallen in love with him like never before. 

Everyone says it gets easier, but it seems a slow death to a previous reality. I miss fabric as much as I miss sleep! And I don’t know what I would do if this kid weren’t so cute. But every morning means new mercy, and we did choose a name to declare God’s kindness, meaning, “God’s grace is my rock.” That’s grace to go minute by minute, grace to forgive myself, grace to take pleasure in a moment and let that be good enough.

I don’t know when I’ll sew again. I don’t know when I’ll post again. But we will make it. This is God’s adventure, not mine, and the less I see of my own plan, the more is His – and thus the more He has responsibility to see it through! And we know He is working all of it together for good, and He who promised is faithful.

“He has given me my heart’s desire and has not withheld the request of my lips.”

“The lines have fallen to me in pleasant places. Yes, I have a good inheritance.”

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”