Last Saturday was quite possibly the most perfect day for Mitchell and I. We were together all day long, getting ready for new baby's arrival, which we had thought would most likely be on Monday. We cleaned the house inside and out, went on last minute shopping trips, worked hard and laughed a lot. Looking back it was a precious gift from above to have that last day together, just the two of us.
Around 11:00 pm, we still had a few things to finish up before calling it a night, but I was so exhausted that I told M I had to lay down and put my feet up for a bit. No more than ten minutes later, I bolted off the bed and ran (well, waddled) to the bathroom. With no warning, no labor pains, no contractions, my water had broke. Truly one of the weirdest sensations. I stared wide-eyed at M, and he asked, "What does this mean?" I replied, "I think it means we are going to hospital."
Three hours later, I was lying on a hospital bed, being told that our baby was still in a breeched position, so we would be having a C-section as soon as the doctor arrived. With the flurry of nurses and anesthesiologists going in and out of the room (and M losing the battle to exhaustion on the sofa chair), I wasn't really able to process what was happening until our doctor finally appeared, scrubbed up and ready to perform major surgery. I looked at him and requested five minutes alone with my husband. Everyone left the room, I turned to Mitchell, and then I lost it. It was all happening way too fast, and it definitely wasn't supposed to happen this way. After calming me down, M said a prayer for us, and we were ready to go.
I was led into the operating room, given a spinal anesthetic, lain down on the table, and told to breathe and not worry. After the curtain went up, M was brought in and stayed with me the whole time.
At 3:23 am, we heard our baby boy's first cries. It was the most beautiful sound in the world. As the nurses cleaned him off, I told M to go be with our son. They brought him over to me to hold, but with all of the tubes and cuffs attached to my arms, I wasn't able to fully embrace him. A short time later, the curtain came down, I was transferred to a bed, and before we were wheeled into the recovery room, I was able to really hold my baby boy for the first time. He was perfect.
In four short hours, we had gone from just the two of us to a family of three.
The next few days in the hospital were equal parts pain and joy. Actually, since coming home on Wednesday, it's still a mix of pain and joy. I've been told the pain will last a few more weeks, with a full(?) recovery in six to eight weeks.
The joy, though… oh the joy! That will last an eternity.
We are so happy to be home, and we are so grateful for wonderful family and friends who continue to support us. We are humbled by your love and service.
We love our baby boy "with so much of [our] heart[s] that none is left to protest."
Jackson Romney Ryan