Somehow, it has been one month since we met our little girl face to face. One month since I last hit “publish” on a blog post. One month since reality turned upside down.

When we made that all-too-short drive to the hospital I imagined myself writing this post mere days, rather than weeks, after the “grand event,” but, as with nearly every moment, week, and trimester of this pregnancy - reality was a far stretch from my imaginings.

Back in March, when our nation, along with the rest of the world, went topsy-turvey, I knew that our little one’s delivery and the days that followed would look different. Plans would have to change and dreams would need to adjust, and with nearly every passing day, they did.

But, after our weeks of pre-birth quarantine, un-inviting of hospital visitors, and repacking of hospital bags, I thought we had prepared ourselves for all of the atypical.

Due to my veritable spider’s web of health history, we have known from the beginning that our baby would be delivered via cesarean section and, with the help of restricted exercise during those last few weeks of pregnancy, our tiny one held out until her scheduled delivery date. The countdown blocks rotated far faster than I could have imagined in those last few weeks and, before we knew it, it was Sunday, April 26th and I was baking hospital snacks, growing increasingly anxious, and chugging water with vehemence before midnight struck and my fast began. In some ways, I believe a scheduled birth was ideal for my “plan-everything” personality but, in others, having a countdown made me all the more anxious. A tangled mixture of anxiety and anticipation, combined with third-trimester insomnia, made for a less than restful night of YouTube-scrolling and fretful prayers.

I spent the following morning double and triple checking our hospital bag, sharing a few last moments with sweet Sabine before she advanced from puppy to big sister, and cleaning the shower - because that’s the way this brain of mine copes with intense emotions.

When birth-days are recounted, no one ever seems to talk about the gripping fear that takes over when you approach the culmination of nine months head-on. Yes, there is adrenaline and excitement, but when we were making the seven-minute drive to the hospital, every mile driven made my heart beat a little faster.

I could go on and on about every moment of that day, but as much as I want to gush about everything - it seems so hard to find words to say anything. And that disjointed statement sums up why this post has been so long in its coming.

After the very slow walk to the operating room, bright lights, and a fair amount of sickness and clean-up (hello, side effects of anesthesia), the earbuds went in and a sense of intense calm washed over me, just as the anesthetic had done only moments before. I had planned every moment - saved and downloaded a podcast - but in that moment, all I wanted was the quiet track that had seen me through the years of treatments which finally brought us to this moment. That, and my own determination. I know Josh whispered continuously to me and my beloved doctor described her actions, but I barely registered their words. I may have nodded; maybe not. This was when fear fell to the sidelines - it was time to be my bravest.

I had wondered so many times whether or not my little girl would make herself known or whether her entrance would be announced in another’s voice, but in what seemed like both an eternity and no time at all, I heard a cry and someone exclaimed, “She has lots of hair!! YOUR hair!” After a few moments, a nurse came around the curtain with the tiniest, little, pink person and laid her in my arms.

We might have been in that room seconds or hours - I really don’t know.

I was finally meeting our little Eivelyn Blair.

After we moved into recovery the anesthesia wore off fast and pain medication was needed sooner than I had hoped. She returned to her Daddy’s arms and after a bit of urging by both husband and nurses, I succumbed to a drug-induced nap. Later that night, we Face-Timed family and introduced her to the faces and voices we love so dearly. At this point, I was still getting sick too frequently to hold our little one for more than a few moments, so we said our goodbyes and she went for a bath while we slept.

In the earliest morning hours, I woke a bit more lucid and stronger of stomach and called for the nurse to bring our tiny one back into the room, and in those dark hours, while he slept, she and I snuggled up and took in the magnitude that is meeting a dream realized.

I will cherish those moments forever. When I pressed that buzzer I had no idea that those would be the last moments she and I would share in the hospital, or that days would go by where we would not see one another, or any idea of all the hurt and fear that would fill those next hours and days - but Someone did.

There are still many moments that I will not face putting into words - not now, maybe never. Oversights were made, our baby was whisked away, and the aftermath of facing a hospital stay without baby or husband left a bit of a mess that I have been struggling to sort through and clean up these past few weeks.

But, after the nightmare ended, our baby came home. And once again I find myself basking in joy and gratefulness because, for all the broken pieces and heartache, we are together.

So, there is my hopelessly disjointed “birth story” that, for all it’s imperfection, is perfect. It’s the story God gave us, and I am thankful.

Sincerely,

Pedantic Foodie