Redemption

When I thought about having a baby, I thought the hardest part would be getting pregnant.  

At the time, I saw too many amazing couples struggling.  I knew that even my own parents had a road to parenthood that was not marked without hardship.  

I prepared my head and heart for it to take a while.  I protected myself and thought of how I would come to terms, as best I could imagine, with a miscarriage.  I had heard the stories about women crying in their bathrooms.  Crying and asking why their bodies were failing them.  Asking why so many people can do this thing, yet they can’t.

Turns out, I would not be one of those women crying in the bathroom.  

I got pregnant both times, quickly.  So quick that both almost felt a little unexpected.  Even a little scary.  And, amazingly, both my babies had strong heartbeats and little prenatal concerns.

I am not a woman who has cried in her bathroom.  

Instead, I am a woman who cried alone in a Starbucks.  

It was the day before Halloween.  The warm October had aggressively turned grey, cold and wet.

Twenty minutes before I had been in my OBGYN’s office for my 41 week check up.  Things looked good with the baby, but- despite the weeks of Braxton Hicks- my body had not made any progress towards labor.  

I was told that yes, things were okay right now; but, they really couldn’t let me go much longer. A day or two, at the most.

It had already been made clear to me that in order to have a VBAC, I would have to go into labor naturally.  There were concerns about augmenting labor with things like pitocin after my emergency c-section only eighteen months earlier.  

The c-section that came after two days of labor augmentations because I was- again- overdue.  

That came after two hours of pushing.  

That came and sent my sent my grey son to the NICU before I got to hold him.

That would send me back to the hospital for another week.  

A week where I was able to room with my days-old son; but, in some cruel joke, was unable to care for him.  Instead, I had to watch Adam do it all through the haze of the cocktail of drugs keeping me from having a seizure.  

When the doctor first shared that I was a good candidate for a VBAC, I was thrilled.  I wanted it.  I wanted it so bad.  

For a year I had battled with what had happened.  Fighting depression and anxiety from it.  Wondering why it all had gone so wrong.  Feeling robbed.  Asking why had my body failed me.  And worse, questioning if I failed it. 

I saw other friends share their new child’s birth on social media.  Babies- still covered in a little vernix- on their chest.  Huge smiles full of euphoria and relief.  

I wanted that photo.  

I visualized it and could see it so clearly.  Me, reaching for my baby as the doctor set her on my chest.  So happy.  Laughing, with tears in my eyes.  “I did it,” I would breathlessly exclaim.  

I found it all so poetic.  After all, my first photo with Theo was from one whole day later.  He was still attached to wires in the NICU and I was beginning to show signs that my body was in distress.  

That photo, that moment, that completely different experience.  That would be my redemption.

I saw husbands sharing their love and pride in their “rockstar” wives.  Adam didn’t get to have that.  Instead, he has the memory of holding our son in the emergency room while texting his mom: “What do I need to prepare myself for?” as he watched my blood pressure reach levels of Hypertensive Crisis.  

I wanted it just as bad for him.  This would be our redemption.

But, instead, in that Starbucks on that grey, cold, windy afternoon, I cried.  

I asked why my body couldn’t do the thing that so many others could.  I asked why was my body failing me… again.  

Longing still for that moment of redemption, I called the office back and asked for 48 more hours.

But, within those 48 hours, that moment never came.  Instead, a little girl with a full head of hair did… by way of a scheduled c-section at hour 48.

And, I supposed that is more than some can say.  Because in that same hour, there was likely a woman crying in her bathroom asking why her body cannot do the things mine can.

In the weeks that would follow, I wouldn’t get sick.   I would be able to care for two babies alongside my husband.  I would smile and feel happiness.  I would remember every moment. 

And, I would be told by someone- who is basically a stranger- that I was robbed again.

They should have induced me and let me have my chance.

Robbed. 

It echoed in my mind.  It was my word.  I had felt it so deeply before.

But, now… Robbed?

I told them that that may be.  

But, maybe not.

Either way, a c-section is how I became a mom.

Redemption.  

It finally came.