At 12:31am this past Monday morning (or as Kevin likes to say, "Zero Dark Thirty-One"), our lives changed forever - again. Abigial, meet world; world, meet Abigial.
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| Me and my squishy! |
Our gestational journey this time started back in October, when Jacob was just 7 months old. After three home pregnancy tests, it was time to face the music and schedule an ultrasound. I was still in denial, thinking perhaps the two blue lines, pink plus sign, and clearly digital "Pregnant" display were merely some sort of cruel joke my hormones were playing on me. Perhaps leftover hCG from my previous pregnancy or a cyst of some sort...or maybe even early menopause... As funny as it sounds now, all of these options seemed just as plausible to my dazed mind as the possibility of another pregnancy. But sure enough, as I laid on the ultrasound table and stared at the screen, there it was - a beautiful and terrifying little heartbeat, pumping wildly, singing a song of wonder and possibilities. Not even in our craziest dreams had we entertained the actual possibility of having three kids. We barely ended up with two after my awful pregnancy and delivery with Karis prevented me from exploring the idea of planning any more children. My pregnancy with Jacob wasn't much easier and my labor and delivery experience with him was enough to leave me shaking in terror at the thought of doing it again. I lived the first 4 months of the pregnancy in fear, chaos, and the ever present denial.
My sanity-saving grace? The Gethsemane prayer - Father, not my will, but your will be done.
I knew that if God wasn't going to change my circumstances that I would need a heart change in order to be able to deal with a new pregnancy. Deep down, I didn't really want God to change my circumstances, I was just scared, and what I really needed was a new lease on life. My plans had been turned to rubbish - my classes, degree, and dreams were being put on hold, again. Suddenly, it became quite clear to me that my role at this particular time in my life was that of a full-time mom and wife and I wasn't totally sure how I felt about that. So, I did the best I could and took it one day at a time.
Months passed and around 34 weeks, I started feeling contractions - real ones, not Braxton Hicks, as they were causing changes in dilation and effacement. They would start and stop daily, often reaching the "5-1-1" rule, but never strong or regular enough for me to go to the hospital. My test was if I could go to sleep, I would either wake up in real labor or they would be gone. I remembered going through the same thing with Jacob and knew that this was "prodromal" labor/irritable uterus, which was later confirmed by my doctor's office. My greatest fear now was that these early contractions would progress me slowly to the point of active labor -- and then all hell would break loose again. About 4 days before I went into labor for real, I had a massive panic attack and breakdown over the prospect of having another precipitous labor. The truth is while it is "short and sweet", it is also intensely painful as your body is taken by surprise and loses it's ability to produce endorphins effectively. I called Kevin, who came home and listened to me blubber about what all I was feeling and how scared I was. He hugged me and asked, half jokingly, how many emotions I was feeling - 10? 1000? Eleventy billion? I laughed weakly and said, "All of the above." He then asked, on a more serious note, "Which emotion is the strongest?" "Fear", I said, instantly feeling the blood in my veins run cold. His response was this: "I know you're scared, but remember, fear is just an emotion, you don't have to let it be reality." I remembered a conversation earlier about how Jesus probably didn't feel that he was being faithful when he cried out to God on the cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" - but that didn't mean he wasn't faithful. Our emotions are not always reality, even though they may feel that way. I knew he was right. I am so thankful for my kind-hearted, loving, funny husband who not only understood my needs in that moment but was able to help me wade through them. I was most afraid of not making it to the hospital in time for pain medication - my experience with Jacob was too fresh in my mind to intentionally attempt natural childbirth again, and scenes of an over-filled triage room and too busy to listen nurses filled my mind. I texted back and forth with my friend Julie (who was also so encouraging!), discussing various things, when it suddenly occurred to me that instead of just freaking out, maybe I should turn to Scripture and find my comfort there. Not having my actual Bible with me, I went to the next best thing - Google! - and typed in "scriptures for new moms". That led me to a blog post of 10 scriptures for new moms and a link to a previous blog post that included 10 scriptures for surviving pregnancy. They were all good ones, but the one that reached out and grabbed me was from Isaiah 43.
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
2 When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze...
You are precious and honored in my sight...
I love you.
Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.19 See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland."
As I read it over and over and prayed (again) for God to take the lead over labor and delivery, a peace washed over me. I broke down and cried tears of repentance and joy. I knew God had heard me and that he would be faithful. He created me and he created Abigail, he knew us both more intimately than I could imagine, and only He could see into the future and determine the right time and place. So, I waited. Over the next several days, I could sense labor was drawing close, but I was no longer obsessed with trying to control it. I tried to relax and carry on as normal, knowing that when the time was right, I would know what to do. On Sunday, I went to church with my family, but since the kids in my Sunday School class were either at camp or in Orlando, I was able to visit the Lillies of the Field class, a multi-generational class of women taught by a retired lawyer who also happens to be one of our deacons, Carol. It was wonderful to sit and listen and be taught instead of teaching and I loved being in the midst of women older than I who had the experience and wisdom that I needed to hear. They encouraged and commiserated with me, prayed for me, and listened to me. We went to church and heard a wonderful message from my wonderful husband from Romans 8 (one of my favorite passages). He pointed out that Romans 8:1 is just as true as Romans 6:23, but that we tend to forget that. He placed a large red trash can at the front of the church and had us fill out small pieces of red paper with things that we still held in our hearts that we felt deserved condemnation - those little sins that seem to hold on and guilt us into not forgiving ourselves and others - even when God has. I wrote down several things, two of which were "emotional desperation" and "fear". Along with my fellow church members, I threw them away and walked back to my seat, accepting that God did not condemn me and I would not condemn myself. Feeling lighter and freer than I had in weeks, I left church with my family and went to lunch.
To be continued...
To be continued...
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