I should warn you that I began writing this post when you were four days old as I watched you sleep in your bassinet beside the sofa. You will be five months old tomorrow. And it will probably take you five months to actually read this post. It is lengthy. But I didn't want to miss a single thing. This is the story of how you came to be. It is not a short story. I wanted you to know everything about what an amazing journey this has been (and continues to be). I hope that one day you will know and understand the incredible, beautiful, confusing, overwhelming, and amazing journey to motherhood for yourself. This is the story of my journey to you... the precious angel girl who made me a mother.
I would love to tell you that I was one of those girls that always dreamt about being pregnant and becoming a Mom. I guess I could tell you that, but I'd be lying. I had given it random and fleeting thoughts occasionally, but never did I think that being a mother was my life's destiny - as selfish as that might sound.
So how, you might ask, did you come to be? Well the long and short of it is that, despite whatever thoughts I'd had about whether or not I was meant to be a mom, in hindsight it is so easy to see that you were ALWAYS the plan.
One Sunday that your Dad and I actually had off of work together (August 10th, 2014 to be exact), we had plans to boat to the sandbar with some friends. The night before that, your Dad and I had been enjoying some cocktails and much needed "patio time" and somehow found ourselves on the topic of parenthood. We decided that we weren't getting any younger and that maybe we should start to think about "trying"... The next day (and after nearly drowning, getting the boat stuck, getting attacked by bees, and getting caught in a rainstorm - perhaps a story for another day) the idea that we just might be ready to be parents persisted. And that, my girl, was the extent of our "trying". We didn't know it yet, but as of that day, you were on the way.
A few weeks later our neighbor's cigar smoke wafting out of his garage and over to our driveway made me want to vomit. I chalked it up to a new brand of cigar maybe? A week or so after that we were having a beer or two at a Jacksonville Sun's baseball game and I felt gross. Flat beer? It was dollar beer night after all. I wrote it off. On August 29th, 2014 your Dad and I were getting ready for our big first game of the college football season party. I felt weird. I was three days late, which wasn't that out of the ordinary. I convinced myself that I was tired from a long week, but when we went to the grocery store to buy all of the snacks for the party the next night, I grabbed the Publix brand pregnancy test, because "wouldn't it be funny if...". Your Dad's exact words to me when I tossed it in the cart were, "Babe. Do you really think you're pregnant?" And then he laughed, which irritated me to an irrational level.
When we got home we had a friend over to hang out while we prepared the party food for the next night. We decided to have a dirty martini - my favorite! I took a few sips and felt WAY too buzzed, so to just put my mind to rest, while your Dad and our friend sat on the patio, I snuck into the house and went to our bathroom to take the pregnancy test. Of course you are supposed to pee on the stick and set it aside for a few minutes and then check the results. Instead I just sat on the toilet and stared at it the entire time. I could see the little windows on the plastic stick changing colors. The first window showed a dash sign, and slowly but oh-so-surely in the second window a plus sign appeared. I stared in disbelief. I checked the box again to be sure I had the symbols right. I did. I immediately shuffled to the bathroom counter to snag the other test, as surely this one was wrong. No one gets pregnant on literally ONE try... right? WRONG, I thought to myself as I watched the second plus sign appear.
I remember looking at myself in the bathroom mirror thinking now that I was pregnant surely my face must look different? After I got done pacing the bathroom floor and repeating "ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod" five thousand times, I thought I'd better get myself together and go tell your Dad. It took me a few more minutes to sort through the flood of emotions - disbelief, shock, fear, joy, and then disbelief again - and get myself together to go back to the patio. Our friend was still here, so my plan was to tell them that I was going to bed and wait until he left to tell your Dad. Well, patience has never been my strong suit, so instead of following my plan, I stood in the living room where your Dad could see me through the glass door and waved him inside. I must have had a crazy look on my face because he came straight to me and asked what was up with concern in his voice. I haphazardly blurted out "I'M PREGNANT!" This statement was first met with a brief blank stare, followed by a moment of confusion, and finished off with a slow raise and extension of his hand. That's right, when I told your Dad that I was pregnant with you, he tried to high five me. I immediately swatted down his hand and told him that he'd better hug me because we would not be high fiving about procreation. We must have hugged for quite a while, because soon we heard the door to the patio open and our friend say "wellll I guess I'm gonna go?...." and, sensing the weirdness, he hurried out the front door.
We decided that "just to be sure" we needed to go back to the store and buy the "good" brand of pregnancy test, the digital ones that say "pregnant" or "not pregnant". By this point of the night, the only store open was WalMart, so we headed out. I remember clinging to your Dad's arm the whole way through the store and laughing as we tried to figure out which test to buy. When we got back to the house I was scared to take the test again. What if the first ones had been wrong?! Thankfully, within a few minutes those fears were put to rest as two plain as day "PREGNANT" results popped up on the little screens.
Your Dad and I sat on the sofa and stared at each other in disbelief. We did the math and figured out the dates and started downloading baby apps to calculate a due date. May 3, 2015 was what we consistently came up with. I was a tiny little three weeks pregnant. The apps all said that you were the size of a poppyseed. A POPPYSEED. Doesn't that seem crazy? We literally got the jar of poppyseeds out of the pantry and stared and one in the palm of my hand. How the hell was this teensy, tiny, almost invisible little spec not going to get lost in my body? How would this itsy bitsy dot grow into a human? It blew our minds. (p.s. Your Dad also Googled "can a pregnancy test be wrong at 3 weeks?" FYI, it can be false negative, but 99.9% accurate when the results are positive, just in case you were wondering. I immediately assumed it was because he didn't believe I did the tests correctly. He later told me that it was because he didn't want to get all excited if there was a chance it could be wrong. So sweet.)
The next morning I woke up and thought for a brief moment that it was all a dream. The four positive pregnancy tests on the bathroom counter quickly reminded me that it wasn't. I remember feeling confused, like I wasn't quite sure how to act as a pregnant person. What could I eat? I guess I had to skip my morning coffee... right? Should I be using organic soap? That was just the beginning of my every thought and action being about what would be best for you.
At that point I wasn't really having any major symptoms other than a bit of boob soreness and the occasional smell bothering me more than normal. The football party continued as planned. We did our best to fake everyone out, I drank O'Douls in a tall coozie and passed the shots that I was handed to a good (and ultimately extremely intoxicated) friend who I confided in and who was willing to take one - or like ten actually - for the team. Our football parties typically carry on until about 3 a.m. and have on more than one occasion ended with members of law enforcement at our front door. Despite our best efforts to fake it, all of the party-goers must have sensed something was off, because our house cleared out by 11 p.m.
The next day was Sunday (it was also Labor Day weekend) and your Dad and I drove to Amelia Island for lunch. I remember thinking that I was already fat and couldn't fit into any of my clothes - oh little did I know! We had an awkward lunch. I was prepared to party all weekend, and now obviously that plan was scratched and I didn't know how to act. On the way back to Jacksonville a sweet song came on the radio and I BURST into tears. And I mean tears literally exploded out of my eyes to such an extreme that your Dad immediately veered onto the shoulder of the road and stopped the truck to make sure I was okay. This was the first of many random tear explosions.
When I went back to work on Tuesday after the holiday weekend I felt like all of my coworkers were just going to "know" just by looking at me. Obviously three weeks was MUCH too early to tell anyone. That day as soon as it hit 9 a.m. I called my doctor's office and told them that I'd taken a positive pregnancy test. I remember being so excited to say it aloud to someone and the lady on the phone was a complete bitch. She said the appointment would be for "amenorrhea", which really pissed me off. It sounded like she was calling my condition a venereal disease instead of a pregnancy. Turns out that this was the first of many FAILS for this doctor's office - more on that later.
The soonest the doctor could see me was a WEEK away. A whole week. It felt like an eternity. I knew that I was pregnant, but I needed to hear it from the doctor. I needed someone else to validate it so that it felt real. The next few days were spent adjusting and waiting for our doctor's appointment. It felt like an eternity, but on October 8, 2014 we heard your precious heart beating. It was the sweetest sound I've ever heard. And it was also confirmed that the due date we'd predicted was accurate - May 3rd, 2015.
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| This was actually the second or third sonogram, we could see you wiggling around! |
By this point I was four weeks pregnant and literally bursting to tell everyone. Knowing that it's risky to share the news publically until after the first trimester, we wanted to limit who we told to just immediate family. We planned a trip to see your Grana Jana's new place in New Smyrna Beach and thankfully were able to convince your Auntie Chloe and Uncle Kyle to come up too. Waiting the almost two weeks until we saw them to tell them was SO hard. I spent the time coming up with a clever way to share the news with them and came up with the cards and sippy cup below.
We arrived in NSB and spent some time hanging out by the pool. I poured water in a Bud Light bottle to throw them off and was going out of my mind with anticipation and excitement to get back to the condo to give them all their "housewarming gifts". When we finally went back upstairs, I casually handed Kyle and Chloe their cards and mom her gift bag and said it was just a little something for their new homes. Your Dad and I could hardly contain ourselves as they opened up their gifts. Your Grana was the first to react and simply said "are you serious?" About two seconds later it hit Kyle and Chloe. They both teared up and hugged us - they were all shocked and so excited.
After that I sent a text to a few very close friends with a picture of me and your Dad standing on Flagler Avenue with the beach behind us and a caption that read "does this outfit make me look pregnant?" They were all elated and promised to keep the news to themselves until I got farther along. The next few days were spent calling other family members to share the news. Everyone was absolutely elated.
Time started flying. We had a trip to Vegas planned for mid-October. Vegas would not have been my choice had I known that I would be pregnant while there, but what can ya do? I was horrified when I started to feel a scratch in my throat the night before we left. The next morning on the way to the airport I convinced myself that it was just first trimester exhaustion that had me feeling so bad, but by the time we were mid-flight, I knew I was sick with the flu. Every inch of my body ached, I knew I had a fever, and I was sweating like crazy. I knew that fevers were dangerous at this stage of pregnancy and I was terrified. When we landed and got to the hotel I called the doctor and they said that I could safely take Tylenol and use throat spray and to go to the ER if my fever got to 104. We got checked in to the room and your sweet Dad immediately walked to the drug store to get some supplies as I climbed into bed. What a great start to the trip!
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| Our beautiful room at The Cromwell. Thank goodness the bed was comfy! |
I could have cared less what I felt like, the misery of being sick was nothing in comparison to how scared I was that the fever would somehow hurt you. I spent the whole first day and night in bed while your Dad stood on the Vegas strip below the hotel window talking on the phone. Poor guy! He'd never been to Vegas but wouldn't leave us. By some miracle, when I woke up the next day my fever was gone and we were able to get out and about and do some fun Vegas stuff. We went on a gondola ride at the Venetian, took a spin on the High Roller, went to the wax museum, and even went on a monster truck ride at Bullets and Burgers where your Dad shot some big guns while I watched from a mile away. We also sent a message to your great aunts and uncles and cousins with a picture of me sitting by a fountain in the Forum Shops at Caesar's palace - in the same spot I'd sat on a family trip when I was a teenager - with a caption that said "Baby Jones due May 3, 2015". They were thrilled, of course! All in all a great trip.
The rest of the first trimester was spent trying to take it easy. I told my colleagues at about eleven weeks because it was getting too hard to hide the nausea and I figured that it would only be a matter of time before one of them noticed that I was using paperclips to extend the waistline of my pants. The awkward phase of being too big for normal clothes but too small for maternity clothes was no fun. I spent quite a bit of time searching for appropriate clothing, and ended up with quite a variety of yoga pants and leggings. My symptoms were never really too bad... I never threw up, had weird cravings, or got tooooo crazy with mood swings, although your father might tell a different story about that last part... I did get some headaches and was exhausted in the afternoons. I tried every day to leave work on time and when I'd come home I would watch a show called New Girl on Netflix until your Dad got home. He did such a great job taking care of me and would stop at the grocery store and cook dinner almost every night. This actually wasn't anything new because I was pregnant, he's just amazing like that and has always cooked for me.
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| Watching Netflix - Baron and Maybelle were always snuggling with me! |
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| Another pair of yoga pants? YES. |
We were thrilled to hit the second trimester mark and wasted no time announcing you to the world! I loved seeing all the kinds words of support and how excited everyone was.
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| The announcement we posted on FB and Instagram |
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| starting to show! |
Despite the joy and excitement, things got a little tricky between me and your Dad. The shift in our reality hit us like a ton of bricks. I felt like everything in my world - EVERYTHING - was changed. My body was changing, the way I thought about everything was changing, and obviously the things that I did day to day were different. I felt alone because it seemed as though nothing had changed for your Dad. I felt like he was mad at me because I couldn't party like I used to and I would get pissed when he did. In hindsight I think we would both agree that we both put each other through some serious bullshit during this time. One day when you're old enough we'll have to tell you about the time he almost left me (at seven months pregnant) on the side of the highway in the middle of an icy construction zone in Tennessee... that was a rough day. But I hope someday that we can also tell you about how this was a real turning point in our relationship. I know in my heart that our relationship needed that test so that we could learn how to work through something REALLY hard together, instead of giving up and walking away. I'm just certain that this is all a part of God's wise plan through pregnancy, and for us it was so we could get back on the same team and be ready to take on life in our new roles as parents. We didn't give up and we WORKED at our marriage and our love and ultimately, thank God, it brought us closer than we'd ever been. We have you to thank for that, little lady.
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| the same trip where I almost stayed on the side of the road - that's another story too. |
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| a few of the worst days... |
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| Christmas 2015 |
Through all of that the doctor visits continued on a monthly basis and soon it was time to find out if you were a girl or boy. It was just between Thanksgiving and Christmas and we couldn't wait. We felt certain that you would be a boy since your Dad is one of five and of seven kids between them, both of my cousins have six boys. Lo and behold though, at our doctor visit that week, we got a 90% sure guess that you were a girl. I'm not quite sure why, but for some reason I had it in my mind that your Dad wanted a boy, so when we were standing at the counter making our next doctor's appointment, I teared up. Your dad put his arms around me and asked what was wrong. When I told him he laughed and said that he was thrilled to be having a girl. It was at that moment I saw a picture of a purple flower on the wall in the doctor's office and the word "Lilac" popped into my head for about the thousandth time over the course of a few weeks. (Hint, hint Lila...) That was a very emotional day for me, so I decided that since your Dad had the day off, I would call in to work and we could spend the day together. We had lunch at Hurricanes - I distinctly remember wearing my grey and pink Auburn hoodie sweatshirt - and then we came home and painted the shutters for the window in your nursery. We waited until after the "Level two" ultrasound a week or two later that confirmed 100% that you were a girl to announce it. Again, everyone was thrilled.
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| in the doctor's office just a few minutes after we found out you were a girl! |
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| the announcement we posted on FB and Instagram |
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| your cute little hands by your face |
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| at The Nutcracker, our Christmas tradition! |
The second and third trimester I nested like crazy. I had so much fun putting your nursery together. I cleaned every drawer, closet, and cabinet in this house. As the weeks went on, I gradually got more uncomfortable and couldn't sleep. If I wasn't up to pee I was tossing and turning. Your Dad got me a giant horseshoe pillow for Christmas and it helped SO much, but left him with approximately three square inches of space on the bed, which he never once complained about. I don't distinctly remember the first time I felt you move, but I do remember how much you liked to kick around the second I would sit still or lay down for the night and how much you got the hiccups in the last month or two. I loved it.
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| The very first things I bought for your room - my little Birdie! |
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| What your Daddy gave me for Christmas - cute stuff for your room |
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| This was the second version of this project, but I made these letters for your nursery |
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| Your Daddy and I redoing a toy box that your Great-grandfather built for my nursery |
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| your Daddy and I made these paper cranes to go above your changing table |
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| The horseshoe pillow! |
In January we hired a doula to help with our childbirth and newborn classes and labor and birth. She was absolutely amazing and did our classes with just the two of us at home, she was there to answer my every question and irrational fear via text nearly 24 hours a day, and thankfully, despite how much I harassed her, she still became my friend. The most important thing that she helped me with was overcoming my fear of changing doctors. I'd told her at 17 weeks that I felt like I was just too far along to make a change, despite REALLY not liking my doctor. We waited over an hour at every appointment and then got thirty seconds of face time with the doctor, and the majority of that time was spent with him talking over me, or repeating exactly what he'd said at our last visit like it was new information. Your Dad - who was sweet enough to go with me to EVERY appointment - couldn't stand him. I tried and tried to get over it, but the more I thought about this jackass being the first person in the world to lay eyes on you, the more I wanted to switch to a practice where I felt comfortable and like I was being heard. I decided that I would research other practices and tour the hospital where my current doctor delivered. That next week at my Monday night prenatal yoga class I heard several of the women speak highly of a practice called Full Circle Woman Care. They had a reputation for being very supportive of natural birth, birth plans, and doulas. I made an appointment for a consultation and decided to tour the hospital where they delivered too.
I toured the hospital where the first doctor delivered and was way less than impressed. I had to drive through the straight ghetto to even get there and the hospital itself was dark and the nurses were half bitchy. Plus I did not love that their policy was to have you change rooms within a few hours after giving birth. I definitely was not feelin' it. A few days later, though I had not even met with the other doctors yet, I toured the hospital where they delivered.
St. Vincent's Southside was a straight shot down the highway from our house and right in between our house and my office. It was super easy to get in and out of and had a completely separate entrance and parking lot for the birth center. The tour was amazing, the rooms were bright and huge and comfortable and all of the nurses had big smiles. Plus their rooms were LDRP (Labor, Delivery, Recovery, and Postpartum), meaning, no changing rooms! I was pretty much sold just based on the hospital, but when I met with the new doctor - at THIRTY TWO WEEKS pregnant - I was absolutely in love and could not have been happier that I was brave enough to make the change, especially so late in the pregnancy. The new practice had one OBGYN whose due date just happened to be one week after mine, and two midwives. I first met with the midwife Nicole and I knew immediately I was in the right place. She was practical, down to earth, had a great sense of humor, didn't make me wait, actually listened to me and didn't rush when she was in the room with me. She was also completely supportive of my birth plan, which to even my own surprise, was to have a medication free birth.
I never in my life imagined that I would want to go this route, but the more I read and researched, the more I learned that the more that doctors and nurses "intervene" in labor, the greater the chance of ending up with a C-section. Obviously a C-section is a major surgery, a much harder recovery, and is not great for mommy/baby bonding and the hormone cocktail that comes after you give birth naturally. Your Dad was skeptical at first, but of course was supportive and over time came to understand my reasoning. So I wrote our birth plan and gave copies to the hospital, the OBGYN's office, and Kara, our Doula.
About this time (32 weeks-ish), I also began obsessively working on "the list" of things to pack and take to the hospital, things I would need for labor, things to do in the house... I was up to my giant ass in lists. I cleaned everything in the house, threw away so many things, had a garage sale, and then when I was done with that, I cleaned everything again.
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| spelled my name wrong but the thought was cute. |
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| We did a 4D ultrasound for your Daddy for Valentine's Day |
My wonderful Aunt (your Great-Auntie Cyn) and my precious friend Sara, and Aunt Cousin Stefani threw a baby shower for us on March 7th, 2015 at Sara's house in Atlanta. Your Grana, Aunt Chloe and I drove up from Jacksonville to stay in Atlanta for the weekend. By this time I was getting pretty large and had NO idea what I was going to wear. Thankfully your amazing Aunt brought a beautiful dress as a gift for me and it fit perfectly and was the only thing I'd worn that didn't look like a tent. Chloe and I stayed at the Marriott Century Center and she spoiled me rotten. She got me snacks and rubbed my back and told me I looked beautiful even though I know I looked like a cow. The day of the shower was amazing. The weather was perfect, the food and drinks were great, and they had the cutest photo booth props where we took some precious pics. You also got a TON of stuff. So many people loved you before you even arrived. Between all of your loot, the three of us, and our luggage, my car looked like a mobile episode of "Hoarders" on the way back to Jacksonville.
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| The Hoarders road show |
A few weeks after that we went back to Atlanta (at 35 weeks pregnant) for your Aunt Kristin's baby shower. I drove up and back in one day because I wanted to sleep in my own bed. And with my giant horseshoe pillow. That was a long day but in my mind, once we got home from that trip we'd be on the downhill slope to baby time!
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| my snugglebug |
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| the dreaded glucose test day - yuck! |
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| okay so maybe a FEW weird cravings... |
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| Easter Sunday |
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| Getting ready - first ride to work with a carseat |
The day after my birthday, April 15th, a mere 18 days away from your due date, I took the day off and your Dad and I went to one of our all time favorite places to spend the day, Hugenot Park. The weather was not great, but it was nice just to relax and sit outside. I bought a maternity bathing suit just for that occasion and watched my stomach roll as you kicked around all day.
That weekend, April 18th to be exact, I had planned a massage and pedicure on Saturday. By this point I was having some pretty serious and consistent back pain. I tried the chiropractor, but they wanted me to come every other day to the tune of $50 per visit and I just couldn't do it. I also did prenatal yoga on Monday nights and I know that helped quite a bit, but I just really wanted some extra relief, so I splurged on the massage. I went on Saturday morning and it was awesome. So much relief for my back and feet, I didn't even realize how many places hurt until someone started rubbing them. I didn't want the goodness to end, and also I couldn't reach my toes AT ALL, so after the massage I decided to go next door and get a pedicure. It was amazing. One of the best I've ever had. BUT, apparently there is some connection with a particular spot on your foot/ankle and starting contractions, because I had several that afternoon. I didn't think much about it until I was standing at the sink and all of the sudden something warm was running down my leg and all over the floor. I proceeded to go into hysterics, convinced that my water had just broken. I texted our Doula (Kara, the incredible!) and told her what had happened. She told me to lay down for 20-30 minutes and then stand up and see if it happened again. So I did. And it didn't. Come to find out, you can not be 38 weeks pregnant, drink 60 ounces of water, and then attempt to "hold it" while you wash dishes. So yeah, I peed the floor. I did feel a tiny sense of relief that I was just a pee-pants and not actually in labor, but that little incident was a definite wake up call that this thing was really about to happen.
I was going to the doctor every week by this point and at about 36 or 37 weeks they gave me a list of things to do on a daily basis to help "soften the cervix". The list included eating six dates per day, rubbing clary sage oil on my belly, 10 minutes per day of nipple stimulation (with breast pump), and a few other things that I can't remember right now. Dates are like chewing on bags of sandy jelly, the clary sage oil made my skin burn, and the nipple stimulation was roughly the equivalent of pulling them with a tightly clamped pair of pliers. I also did "figure-eights" on my birth ball every night to open up my pelvis, which made my crotch feel like it was dragging a boat anchor. But I did all of it because it was supposed to make labor easier and by God, if I thought it would help get you here, that's what I was doing.
The next week at work I was absolutely miserable. I was hot and worked with a fan sitting on my desk and blowing directly in my face. My back ached and burned with the fire of a thousand suns constantly. I even brought my birth ball to work to sit on, thinking it would help my posture and relieve some of the pressure on my back. Even a metal folding chair was more comfortable than my desk chair at times. I tried my best not to complain every waking second of the day, but it was no secret how miserable I was. My boss told me to "shorten my days" as I saw fit, which I greatly appreciated, and stupidly did not take advantage of, because in my mind that would have been giving up or admitting I wasn't tough enough. By this point I was READY.
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| The constipation was REAL |
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| skin looked great! |
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| how much bigger could I get? Only undergarments that fit. |
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| proving to your dad that I was actually wearing the back support thing that he bought me |
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| I remember standing on this hill staring at the gorgeous lilac sky, and thinking that it was a sign that you were on your way |
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| This was the only time I felt relief on my back - the water felt soooo good |
I remember laughing to myself when I was falling asleep and thinking "how silly to think that Eggplant Parmesan could actually cause you to go into labor.... ha ha...... oh well.... at least it was yummy..... zzzzzzzz.........". And then a few hours later my eyes opened. Was this? Wait.... No. I just have to pee again. So I did. And then I laid back down and closed my eyes. NOPE, there it was again. And again. AND AGAIN. I was having contractions. No. Nope, not happening. The fear of being in actual labor put me into a state of denial so deep that I went back to sleep. It was like I thought I could trick my body into being just me again. Not a pregnant person, not a mommy, just me. I remember having this thought. Like I just needed a few last minutes to just be me. Me as I'd known myself for the last thirty-three years. And I fell back to sleep. And then at about 5:30 a.m. IT WAS ON. I woke up and barely had time to get the words "I've been having contractions since about 1:30 this morning" out of my mouth to your Dad before I was in full on, intense toe-curling pain LABOR. I had an app to time contractions and they STARTED OFF at one minute long and seven minutes apart. Over the next hour they increased to a minute and a half long and five minutes apart, and then went to three minutes apart. The doctor's rule was 5-1-1. Contractions had to be five minutes apart and one minute long for at least one hour. After only several hours, I was there. I texted Doula Kara and told her it was happening. I was confused when she did not say that she was in her car on the way to me right that moment. She told me to "keep her posted". KEEP YOU POSTED?! There is a human about to come out of my body. Mother nature is wringing out my guts like a wet washcloth. I'm in agony, naked and literally climbing the walls, and terrified. What the fuck do you mean "KEEP YOU POSTED"?! But I said "okay, I will." I called my mom and told her I thought today was the day. I was breathing through contractions as I talked. Lane was filling up the bathtub. The dogs were about to lose their minds with all of the confusion and panting (me, not them) and running around. I called my brother and told him today was probably the day as well. Then I got in the tub. That was the only thing that helped. I could cling to the edge and let the rest of my body float while the "pressure waves" (prenatal yoga word for muthafuckin' CONTRACTIONS) took over.
I timed the contractions religiously. I distinctly remember being on all fours on the bed thinking holy shit if labor only gets WORSE from here, there's no way I can do this naturally. I had mentally prepared for contractions to start mild and twenty minutes apart. That is how it's supposed to go, right? No. For me it was full-on gut wrench, three minutes apart want to die intensity. I don't know why this surprised me at the time. That is how I tend to do everything in life, no tip-toeing into the pool, it's always a flying naked cannonball.
Anyway, I was sitting in the tub timing away and slowly but surely the contractions started to space out. From three minutes to five minutes. Then seven minutes. Then ten minutes apart. I was "keeping Kara posted" (eye roll) and she gently and lovingly reminded me that today might not, in fact, be "the day". I couldn't believe she would say such a thing to me at a time like this. But I thought it best to inform my Mom and brother, just in case they were sitting by the phone on baby watch. And as it turns out, not only were they on baby watch, they were ON THE WAY. Like, in the car, driving towards me from 1.5 and 4 hours away, expecting to see a baby. Omfg. At this point I got so freaked out and overwhelmed and then my uterus went on strike. Contractions spaced out to 15, 17, then twenty minutes apart. Kara advised "curb walking" (one foot on, one foot off) to see if that would help move things along. So I put on my walking shoes and off we went. Your sweet Daddy was doing everything he could to help me. He held my hand and braced me when I needed to stop and have a contraction. I was wearing a tank top with popsicles on it and a black short maxi skirt, and my Reefs. According to my carefully written plan, this was my "in labor" outfit.
We curb walked and regular walked and saw so many joggers and walkers that passed us quickly by, as if to acknowledge that they knew I was a ticking time bomb and didn't want to risk getting any "fruits of my labor" on them. We took a break from walking and sat on a bench in our neighborhood that overlooked one of the golf greens. It was a beautiful day. Sunny and not a cloud in the sky, but not too hot. As we sat there I saw a bluebird land on a branch on a tree across the street. This was significant to me because your throughout my pregnancy I had intense memories and thoughts of your Great-grandmother (my "Grandmama") and we always had a special bond over bluebirds. I even called you my little birdie and bought a dainty gold necklace with a gold feather on it to wear when I was pregnant. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the bluebird land that day, because it is rare to see them in Florida. It gave me comfort and I knew my little birdie would be here soon.
After our walk my contractions were still spaced out and didn't have a consistent rhythm to them. I decided that we needed to go to Starbucks so that I could get some juice concoction and your Dad could get a coffee. I sat in one of their chairs and worked my way through an intense contraction while your Dad was in line and a lady stared at me in horror over her non-fat soy latte. When we returned home your Grana was already there in the driveway. I was stressed and beginning to realize not only that today might not be the day, but also that I would be disappointing my birth audience if it wasn't. Sigh. I thought it would be a good idea - and something for everyone to do other than stare and my crotch and wait to see a head - to go to the pool across the street. I knew that as long as my water hadn't broken I was good to get in and I thought it would help take some of the pressure off of my entire lower half.
So there we sat. Me, your Dad, your Grana, Uncle Kyle and Aunt Chloe, lined up on the edge of the pool, waiting for your grand arrival. All day long the contractions would intensify and get closer together - back down to five and three minutes apart - and I would think "it's happening!" and everyone would get all ramped up, and then the contractions would subside. I wore myself out walking on curbs, walking in general, rolling on the birth ball, doing hip circles, anything and everything to keep labor going. When we finally left the pool I remember sitting at home on our leather club chair, with tears running down my face and trying to manage an INTENSE contraction and yelling to your Aunt Chloe between breaths to "STOP CRUNCHING!" as she was eating chips on the sofa. It was like I had to use every ounce of my energy focusing on effectively managing the pain and hearing anything other than absolute silence diminished my ability to cope. So when they started asking questions like "what does it feel like?" and "what do you need?" during contractions, I became murderous. And don't even get me started on when your Grana rubbed my belly during a contraction. I am fully aware that she was just trying to help and comfort me, but dear GOD, just the faintest touch and it felt like an additional turn on the vice grip that had my lower half in a death lock.
So the rest of the day continued on like that. Contractions intensifying, getting closer together, intense pain and exhaustion, and then they would fade away and stop for a few hours. By the time everyone was ready to go to bed I was exhausted and so very disappointed. I felt like everyone was going to be mad at me because it was a "false alarm" and they'd driven so far. That night I put on the only thing I had that fit - a big grey nightgown - and did some more exercises on my birth ball. Despite my exhaustion and overwhelming discomfort, one of the top suggestions for how to get baby out is to do the same thing that created baby in the first place, so at a tremendous nine months pregnant and already sort of in labor, that's what we did. It was nothing short of a miracle of physics and positioning that it even happened, and I felt for sure my efforts would be rewarded with a steadily progressing labor that ended with a beautiful baby in my arms. But nope. I laid on a "Goodnites" bed pad just in case my water broke (super romantic) and had more random contractions throughout the night, and a very small amount of sleep.
The next morning Uncle Kyle and Aunt Chloe headed out as I tearfully apologized for not being able to produce a baby while they were there. Your Grana stayed behind to hang out with me while your Dad went to work. I called out of work, still holding out hope that you'd soon arrive. When I got up and got active that day the contractions started again. I was so confused and didn't know whether to hope that they would continue and I would be having a baby, or that they would stop and I would be able to rest before the big event did actually happen. I practiced every single pain management technique that I'd planned for the previous nine months. Thankfully it helped, but there were points when I was just so mentally exhausted I wanted to break down.
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| Aunt Chloe and Uncle Kyle getting ready to head out. "Chloe look at this thing on my ear." |
Your Grana headed back home that evening and again I apologized profusely that she'd driven all that way for nothing. I cried that night, and the contractions continued. On and off and on and off. There were times when I would get a glimmer of hope that we were actually progressing, but the contractions would stop just short of the "5-1-1" rule and we'd go back to the drawing board.
By Tuesday morning I was convinced that this cycle of contractions would continue for at least two more weeks. Kara had sent me some information on Sunday evening about something that I had never ONCE heard of in all my classes and research called "Prodromal Labor". So what the hell is that, you ask? Allow me to enlighten you. Below is a quote from a blog of a woman who went through it twice.
What Is Prodromal Labor?
The word “prodromal” comes from the Greek word for “precursor.” It describes the signs of a labor that may appear before active labor actually begins. A woman in prodromal labor will experience labor as though she will deliver soon, even if she will not. Labor contractions with no baby in sight.
Prodromal labor may start and stop over a period of hours, days, or weeks. Or it may continue without progressing—the contractions never get more intense or closer together. Prodromal labor may become active labor at any time, so it can leave you expecting a baby any moment for weeks. As you can imagine, it isn’t an easy burden to bear. Surviving prodromal labor is hard—as someone who has suffered through prodromal labor twice, I can vouch that the prodromal stage of my labors was much more physically and emotionally taxing than the active stage.
So there you have it. Labor. No baby. I resigned myself to the fact that this cycle would likely continue until well past my due date and that I needed to suck it up and carry on. I kept repeating "Katie, you can do this. You are strong. Your own body can not kill you. You've been preparing for this. Your baby will come when she is ready." And then I would silently cuss you up and down for the next thirty minutes for not abiding by the eviction notice that my body was clearly attempting to serve you.
So Tuesday morning I got up, got dressed through contractions, and went to work. Of the entire day I really only remember taking a picture of my feet with my new shoes to send to my mom and sitting at my desk pretty much glazed over and drooling and trying not to react or tense my body to my nine-thousandth contraction. At this point I'd been in "Prodromal Labor" for over sixty hours.
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| The box was there for months so I could prop my feet up |
At home that night I was trying to ignore the pain and knew that I needed to eat something. Your Dad went to PDQ and got me a grilled chicken salad. I ate less than half and decided to call it a night. I was defeated, deflated, exhausted, every muscle on my body ached from tensing when I had a contraction. I laid down with tears in my eyes again. I knew that I had my 39 week doctor's appointment the next morning and up until that point I had not allowed them to "check" my cervix to see about dilation, because in all of my research I learned that it is completely unnecessary, painful, and doesn't actually tell you anything about when the baby is coming. But I made up my mind that night that I was getting checked in the morning and if NOTHING had happened (as in no dilation), then I was going to have to make some serious decisions about how to proceed with getting you out.
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| Grey nightgown. Hurting. Waiting. |
We went to bed early again and at some point that night (I don't even remember because over the course of the three days I'd stopped looking at the clock) the contractions got back down to about a minute long and five minutes apart. I was approaching hour 72. I started timing them for no other reason than sheer curiosity, as surely this was still not real labor. It must have been about 5 a.m. because I remember thinking at about six that it had been an hour and here I was at the verge of the 5-1-1 mark again, so surely the contractions would start spacing out again at any minute. Only they didn't. I had been trying to lay there silently so as not to wake your Dad, clenching my teeth and the sheets in my hands every time I had a contraction. He had been awake almost as much as I had and I knew he needed rest, but by 6:30 I was sobbing. Completely and utterly exhausted, I laid on my back on our bed with my arms stretched out by my sides, tears streaming down both sides of my face, and my entire body limp except for every muscle tightening down on my giant pregnant belly as the contractions continued. I decided then that I couldn't do it any more and that I needed a C-section. I waited until about 6:45 so it wasn't too obscenely early and called Kara and between sobs blurted out "I can't do this anymore!" as soon as she answered the phone. She asked me what the contractions felt like and I told her that they were now starting in my back and radiating around to my belly, to which she replied, "I'm on the way."
I decided that I needed to get in the bathtub again. It took every ounce of energy and concentration to get undressed and into the tub. I was desperately awaiting the sweet relief of the warm water and the weight being taken off my body. Your Dad started running the water and guess what? It was freezing cold. That's right, at hour 77 of labor and only wanting the sweet relief of a hot bath, our hot water heater was broken. I could have died right there in the bath tub. Frantically your Dad began boiling water in every pot we owned and would run it back and dump it into the tub where I sat crying. He would close the door when he'd leave the bathroom and the dogs would bark incessantly at the door. (See above section about noise and contraction concentration.) In addition to the dogs barking, Lane and I were barking at each other. I was furious about the hot water situation and in obvious agony, and he was frustrated that he couldn't help me faster. When Kara arrived I was out of the tub and wrapped in a towel. Well, the towel was wrapped as far around a nine-month pregnant body as it would go anyway. And I was trying to eat oatmeal. JUST IN CASE this happened to be the real thing, I knew I needed something to boost my energy, as I hadn't eaten much or slept for three days.
Kara observed me for a little bit and then told me to start getting my stuff ready because we were going to the hospital. I knew in my heart that they were just going to send me home and that I was not in active labor, so I completely disregarded my "plan" of how everything was supposed to go and didn't shower, barely brushed my teeth, didn't pack any of my carefully selected labor snacks or the cookies we had for the nurses. I just said, "well I'm sure we'll be back in a few hours, so let's go." I did put on my popsicle tank top and my labor skirt again though. The weight of shoes was too much, so I'm pretty sure I got into my car barefooted. I called the doctor and told the office while breathing through contractions that I would not be at my appointment that morning because we were headed to the hospital. Your dad drove at light speed and I remember thinking that I was so glad we'd changed doctors and that we didn't have to make 50,000 turns through the ghetto to get there. We pulled right up to the hospital and made it to the L&D floor pretty quickly. By this point I was doubled over about every five minutes. I was concerned because I wasn't sure that the contractions were a full minute long, but Kara told me not to worry about it.
I don't know what sadistic son of a bitch came up with the whole "checking in" process when you're in labor, but let me tell you what... the process could use some streamlining. I think that women in labor should be able to walk straight in, drop their purse on the floor by the reception desk mid-stride, and proceed directly to an exam room. "What's that? You need my insurance card? Oh I'm sorry, you need my driver's license? Yeah, it's in there somewhere girlfriend. Get to diggin. Kthanksbye."
Unfortunately, that is not how the process goes. You must stand there while the check-in person moves at a glacial pace to produce 50 pages of garbage that you have already seen, read, and completed at your last 20 prenatal appointments, so that you can fill it out again whilst managing the horrifying nausea-inducing agony of contractions. They also ask you (WHILE YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHER IS STANDING RIGHT BESIDE YOU) if you are in fear of anyone or anything? My reply was "The only thing I fear is my own body at this point."
Finally, after a small eternity, we went into the teensy room where they check you to see if you're really in labor. We waited for a few minutes and a little nurse came in and asked me for a urine sample. I looked at her, looked at the cup, and looked at the toilet that seemed to be approximately 3.5 inches off of the ground and wondered aloud how my enormous body was going to hoist on and off that toilet without my ass falling out. Just an FYI, the "release" of peeing leads to a contraction of Everest proportions which ensured that nearly everything in that bathroom ended up with at least a drop or two of urine on it. And the nurse was beyond confused when she came back with the results of the urine test and I asked her if I was pregnant. Nurses, if a lady in labor makes a hilarious joke, you really need to laugh. Anyway, then we got to the fun part, which was being "checked". Instead of saying, "okay now we're going to check your cervix", they should really say, "okay now we're going to violate you with a pitchfork" because that's pretty much how it feels. The next thing I knew this lady's hand (arm? shoulder?) was so far up my body that I thought she might end up picking my nose from the inside. All of this to find out that I was at 4 centimeters dilated and officially IN LABOR. The nurses pointed out that they were aware that my birth plan said that I did not want to be checked in until I was at 5 centimeters but that they strongly recommended me staying since I was positive for Strep B. The truth is that once I heard them say I was really in labor, wild horses couldn't have dragged me away from that hospital, unless it was over and there was a baby in my arms.
From there they ushered us to room #17. I was so thankful to have Lane and Kara with me to carry all the bags so that all I had to do was focus on putting one foot in front of the other without dying. Despite my original plan of laboring in my clothes I changed into the hospital gown they had in the room as soon as all the bags were in. They set my IV and were awesome to abide by my "as little monitoring as possible" birth plan rule. This meant that I could walk, pace, dance, sit, slow dance, or whatever my heart desired for 45 minutes of every hour, and had to lay in the bed and be monitored for 15. The laying still was really the hardest part. I spent the majority of the time walking the halls and quickly learned that the giant rails that are all along the walls are for when you your legs turn to gelatin and will no longer support you, your descending baby, or all of the pain.
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| Yes, I am fully aware that these lists are over the top, completely OCD, and far too extensive. Never having had a baby or been in labor before, creating these lists was the only thing that made me feel like I had any control. I realize I am subjecting myself to potential ridicule by posting these, however, when I was trying to figure this whole thing out, I searched everywhere for what I felt was a complete, comprehensive list, and couldn't find one, so I created my own. I thought if posting these helps one OCD momma-to-be out there then it will be worth it. |
Through all of this, my doula Kara was amazing. She helped me change positions, she applied chap stick (your lips and mouth get very dry from all the breathing), she spooned ice chips into my mouth and gave me water before I even had to ask for it. She held my hair, she played music, she pushed on my back for counter pressure when I was having a contraction, she even stood in the shower with me and sprayed water on my back. In my extensively planned and packed "Labor Bag" I had a bathing suit packed because I really am quite modest, but let me tell you, in birth you just can't be naked enough. A piece of hair touching your skin feels like the weight of a black hole. So clothes? Yeah no thanks.
During one of the 15 minutes on monitoring times when I had to be strapped to the bed, a new nurse came in to "check" me again. And if I thought Nurse Farmer in the Dell with the pitchfork before was bad.... this new nurse made my encounter with her seem like a dinner date. She didn't waste any time romancing me and just shoved her gloved fist in places that should not be accommodating a gloved fist. The pain was so intense that my eyes crossed. When the assault was over she informed be that I had reached 7 centimeters. THANK GOD, we were progressing. Ladies that have labored know that 7 centimeters is "transition" and holy. shit.
At this point my water had not yet broken. I had been in (prodromal then active) labor for nearly 90 hours with next to no sleep, and over the previous two days had eaten half a salad, half a bowl of oatmeal, and three honey sticks that Kara fed me in the hospital. (For those that don't know, you are not allowed anything other than clear liquids once you're checked into the hospital in the event that you have to have a C-section.) Understatement of the century to say that by this point I was famished and exhausted, but I wanted to carry on drug-free. And then my water broke. I conveniently happened to be sitting on the toilet when this happened and the pain level intensified by 1,000. I managed three contractions and was shaking and sobbing, there was no amount of breathing that would help. My legs would no longer support me and I was starting to panic. I could see the look of relief on your Daddy's face when, through streams of tears, I said I had to have the epidural. Between contractions I had a brief moment of clarity and it occurred to me that I still had to actually PUSH, and I knew that I couldn't do it unless I could rest pain free for at least a few minutes. I remember sitting on the edge of the bed, crying, praying that the anesthesiologist would arrive before another contraction came. I will give it to the man, he did show up pretty quickly. I'd made it to 8 centimeters and for a brief fleeting moment I was afraid that they would not let me even get the epidural. Thankfully they approved it, but next came the realization that I would have to sit still while this man shoved a drinking straw into my spine.
So I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over, trying to be as still as possible, and I only remember someone saying at that exact moment that your Grana was there and wanted to come in. I asked that they finish the epidural first and after that I only remember saying "OUUUUUUUUUUUUUCH..... OUUUUUUUUUUUUCH..... OUUUUUUUUUCH" over and over in a voice that did not even sound like my own through another contraction. Finally though the epidural was placed and after a few minutes and another contraction, my legs started to feel warm, and then heavy. That was at about 7 p.m. I don't really even remember deciding to take a nap, but that is what my body made me do. Except it was like a twilight sleep. I can remember seeing your Grana and Kara and your Dad sitting on the sofa watching me. I kept saying that I was scared, but now I don't remember what I was afraid of. I think it was everything. I was minutes away from giving birth and being a mother. And until that moment I'd been so focused on managing the pain, that the gravity of the situation had not hit me. That day was going to be my daughter's birthday. Wow.
I "slept" for about an hour, and then Nicole was there to check me again. Only this time there was no reaching in, your head was down and it was time to push. It was 8 p.m. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the room was full of people, your Dad was fascinated with the lights that came out of the ceiling because they followed this little control wherever the nurses pointed it, which ended up of course to be directly at my lady parts.
After much assistance from your Dad and Kara, at first I pushed sitting up. Even though I could feel nothing below my waist, I could still tell when a contraction was coming and when I needed to push. It was bizarre. I would ask "is it happening?" (a contraction) and everyone who was watching the monitors would say, "yes, push!" In that position I had such a hard time feeling at all what I was doing. To my horror they wheeled in a full-length mirror, and despite my original trepidation it did help quite a bit to be able to see. I pushed and pushed and kept thinking "this way isn't working" but wasn't sure how to tell anyone that. Surely they knew better than I did. Right?... There were so many thoughts running through my head... am I doing this right? Is it working? What if I poop?! What if she's stuck? I can't breathe... I can't feel my legs... I'm scared.... And finally, after an hour of pushing in that position, I said, "I need to be on my side." About two minutes after Kara and your Dad rolled me onto my side I remember a gruff nurse (I had been prewarned) coming in and during my next contraction she yelled "RING OF FIRE, PUSH PAST IT! DIG DEEP IN YOUR SOUL!" And something about her made me like "HELL YEAH LADY, I'm digging, we're about to do this!" I was making this guttural sound that I don't for the life of me think that I could duplicate unless I was in labor again. It was not a scream, it was not a cry, it was just this deep, loud sound that for some reason helped. I even remember apologizing for it. I said, "I'm not doing that because it's hurting, it just helps", and Nicole told me there have been all kinds of studies done on making those sounds during birth and that if it was helping me, then to continue on. Strange how I remember that. I also remember telling everyone as I was holding my own leg up in the air that I felt like a dog peeing on a fire hydrant. There was a moment of intensity and concern when Nicole saw that your arm was above your head and blocking your exit, but somehow she made an adjustment and on the next contraction and a big puuuuuuuuuush, at 9:17 p.m. on April 29th, 2015, out you came! I don't remember deciding to do it, or knowing that it wasn't the plan, I just knew I had to get you, so the second everyone said "Katie, look, your baby!", I reached down and pulled you up myself. I remember Nicole saying right away, "wow that was so Kardashian!" Then I felt the weight of your tiny body on my chest, and in an instant, all of the pain, all of the lights, all of the noise, all of the fear, all of the worry, everything but you and our world disappeared. In an instant, looking at your precious, perfect face, everything made sense. The tears streamed. "My baby. My baby is here", I cried.
Your Dad was by my side. He kissed me, he kissed you. We stared in awe. Everyone said how gorgeous you were right away. After a minute or so it was time to cut the cord, your Dad did a great job. He said it was much tougher than he thought. Then they weighed you and cleaned you. Everything was done in the room where I could still see you, which I loved. They brought you back to me and laid you on my chest. Your skin was so soft and wrinkly and you were so tiny. You knew how to start nursing right away. It was amazing. You have been a genius from the moment you were born.
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| 7 lbs, 10 oz, 19" long, born at 9:17 p.m. |
The next hour was another flurry of activity spent with nurses in and out, taking our vital signs. Nicole said that I did need a few stitches, so she did that too. They swaddled you up tight and I watched the nurse - Janine - make a cute hat with a bow for you. Kara and your Grana stayed until we were settled and shortly after they left, the nurse came back in to help me get up and make sure that I could pee. The epidural had been removed but my legs were still so weak and heavy that I had to shuffle to the bathroom with her supporting me by the arms. She loaded me up with all of the postpartum "care" products that I needed. This included a pair of giant mesh underwear, ice packs, witch hazel pads, and the most giant pad I've ever seen in my life. And all of it was necessary. I fell into the wall when I tried to stand up on my own, so she helped me back into the bed. At some point your Dad went and got us boxed Turkey sandwich lunches out of the little cafeteria room at the hospital, we were both starving! It felt so good to EAT.
Finally at 1 a.m. the room was empty, except for our family of three. The nurses told us that they would be back at 2 a.m. to check us again. I told your Dad that we needed to get just a few minutes of rest and despite his resistance, exhaustion got the better of him and he agreed to lay down on the sofa. He got settled and I pushed the button on the bed to turn off the lights in the room. The very second that I did, you started crying. Your Dad jumped off the sofa, wrapped you up in his arms, and sat straight up on the sofa and held you the entire night. When I opened my eyes he was sitting there, staring at you still. I told him that he needed to rest and asked him to bring you to me so that he could close his eyes for a bit. He just looked at me and pulled you closer to him. I said "Babe. I've got her." And finally he brought you to lay with me while he rested. We got to share a few quiet moments together that morning. You were less than twelve hours old and perfect in every single way. I stared at you in awe. I watched your little face and eyes twitch as you slept. I was a mother and my daughter had grown from a poppyseed into the tiny perfect being in my arms. Amazing.
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| Popsicle shirt - I love it when a plan comes together! |
In reality it was probably a few hours that we were alone together, but it seemed like only a few seconds before the endless parade of nurses and visitors started streaming in. I somehow managed to shower and put on makeup before the visitors arrived and that was so impressive to everyone. I didn't really understand why. This was my girl's first day on Earth. I wasn't about to be sitting around looking like garbage for that!
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| your hearing test, Daddy did NOT like the doctors messing with you |
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| in the wee hours of the morning at St. Vincent's |
We proudly posted your picture and announced your birth on Facebook - everyone loved you instantly. That day and the next were a blur of nursing (or trying anyway), ordering food service (and once a pizza), changing the teensiest diapers, and overwhelming love and happiness. We had no idea what was in store for us and how our lives would continue to change over the next few days and weeks, or of the ups and downs that the newborn phase and maternity leave would bring. It has been a crazy, mind-blowing, exhausting adventure every day, and one that I would not trade for anything.
There are no words to describe the deeply intense and profound love that we felt for you the very moment we saw your face. Every parent we encountered during my pregnancy told us that there is just no way to explain it, and they were all right. There isn't. Our hearts can barely contain all the love. There isn't anything we wouldn't do for you. The worry, the protectiveness, the fear, the overwhelming adoration... there just aren't words to properly describe any of it. Sometimes I can't even understand how I could have ever thought "I don't want kids" or "I like my life how it is"... For me, not having you would have been like someone saying, "hey how about I give you the best, most amazingly incredible gift that is better than any gift you could ever possibly imagine, and will fill places in your heart and soul that you never even knew were empty, and bring you the greatest level of unimaginable joy, and all you have to do in return is love and care for this gift" and me replying, "nah, I'm good." So dumb. Looking back it's like everything before you was in black and white and now it's all HD. I'm happy with my journey before you, but in so many ways it feels like life is just beginning now that you're here. I am so thankful for you, my sweet Lila Clare. Thank you for teaching me the meaning of the phrase "true love". You will always be my greatest gift and I am so blessed to be the one who gets to watch you grow and shine your amazing light in this world.
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| Lila Clare - 5 months old |
Mommy
p.s. The day after we brought you home from the hospital, two bluebirds perched on our back fence.
