The Lord is Good: David is born

I woke up Thursday, October 15 and I had a feeling that this was the day. I told Chris to go ahead and get a bag ready and keep his phone on.

I went back to the OB's that afternoon. I was 3 cm, 90% effaced, and the bag of waters was busting at the seams. She told me she was on call all weekend.

The above picture was taken about 4 pm, I was just starting labor. And Daniel was being my little handyman ham ... with tape measure in hand. :)

At about 5:15, I started writing down contraction times at 5 minutes apart and called Chris. By 6:15, they were every 3 minutes apart.

At 8, We went to the hospital.

In my mind, I dilated s-l-o-w. I had previously dilated more quickly with Daniel. This time around, several hours into my hospital stay, I was still 5 cm.

(Typically, if your contractions are close together, the baby is coming fast. Knowing what I know now, I think  my body was trying to get him out quickly, but his head couldn't mold; he had to take his time. They also couldn't really tell how dilated I was since they could never find his tiny back soft spot... Dilation after 6 cm is based not on actual centimeters, but on the location soft spots. Learn something new every day, huh? :)

After being stalled  for so long, my wonderful OB Dr. Van came back in and I had her break my water. I went to 6 cm and stayed there for a few hours too.

To say I was frustrated is an understatement.

To ask my husband, he might use words like, insanity, lunacy, and the like. :o)

Looking back, this is where it got funny (although it was not at the time!): During the contractions, I was in so much pain and would ask Chris to pray for me. Now, keep in mind at this point, it was 3 or 4 in the morning. Not exactly a time when most people are thinking creatively!

So, the scene went like this:
(Contraction coming on.)
Me: Pray.
Chris: (Silence)
Me: PRAY!
Chris: Outloud?
Me: YES!
Chris: Lord, be with Little Bre’anna. Help her get through this contraction. Amen.
Me: (Catching my breath) Pray GOOD!
Chris: Lord, be with Little Bre’anna. Help her get through this contraction. This one’s a strong one. Amen.

This repeated about 30 times over the next hour. And I am not even kidding when I say this EXACT conversation. He even asked "outloud?" every single time. I nearly threw him out the window.

The next morning we were laughing about it and coming up with things he could have said, like: Sorrow may last through the night, but joy comes in the morning, etc! 

Hehe.

Well finally, joy did come at 5:50 in the morning, and David was born.

He let out a soft cry – just enough to let me know he was okay. It was just like he was in the womb: calm and quiet.

I remember after his little cry, the nurse said, "Well you can do better than that!" And in my natural mommy-defense, I remember already thinking, No,no, no - That's just David. He's always been sweet and quiet.

(I always get a kick out of how indicative the first cry is. Daniel came out with a wail you could hear a block away. David let out more of whimper. If you meet them today, this is still true! Daniel is our firecracker. David is our peaceful one.)

Next thing I knew, they were raising him up to my chest: goopy, cottage-cheesy and beautiful. I held him and kissed him and swelled with joy.

He was here. Just the way he was supposed to be.

I held him for a bit, Chris held him for a it, and they weighed him and cleaned him up: 19 inches long and 7 pounds, 6 ounces.

They handed him back to me all swaddled and warm.


During my whole pregnancy, I kept having the same thought: I KNOW Daniel. I know everything about him. I know how he’ll react to any given situation and how to curb those reactions. When I was pregnant for the first time, I paid attention to every move and knew Daniel’s personality before I had him. For the past nine months, I couldn’t understand how I could know another child in this way.

While I held my swaddled baby, I looked at his sweet little face, his opened eyes and sweet, calm expressions.

All I could think was I know you. I know you so well.

I get teary-eyed just thinking how great our God is that he bonds a mother and her children so tightly.

I ate a snack of graham crackers and cranberry juice, feeling like the queen of the world. 

About an hour later, our pediatrician Dr. Pauli came in. For some reason, this moment where I imagined him delivering horrible news didn't seem scary at all.

I was calm.

Serene.

Joyful.

At peace.

He said our timing was perfect. He was only working a few hours that morning before he headed out for vacation. What a God thing. I was glad he was the one to see David. He's smart, kind, a godly man, and a great doctor. If there is something weird going on, he's going to catch it.

"David looks great," He said. "He's healthy, breathing great, heartbeat is great...

He does have some funny molding on his head that I'm going to watch over the next couple of weeks,

but other than that, he's perfect."

I smiled.

A funny head? I thought, Oh, I can deal with a funny head.

All the scary things I had envisioned disappeared.

David was perfect.

He had a funny head.

But he was perfect.

Then I rolled over and took a nap.