Known, thought, planned, prepared for, and given. Knit together inside the womb of a mother remade. Spoken and breathed in victory of life, hope, joy. Unexpected, misunderstood, miraculous and remarkable. Conceived in Australia, discovered in India, brought forth in the United States.
Anna Michal Joy is delivered. A gift from God, sent to us, to the world.
I was 37 weeks and one day, by calendar dates. Only the Lord knows. I’d had many Braxton Hicks contractions for months. Sunday morning, May 21st, they became regular and progressing in frequency for hours; I had some show. The contractions were not strong enough to be convincing, and eased up when we got moving to go to church (but we threw the birth bag into the back of the truck just-in-case). I was restless all day; nauseated, emotional, miserable. Contractions were sporadic but significant all day. Eli’s baptismal service was that evening; it was beautiful, as they always are. Eli declared his choice to be a disciple of Jesus. So thankful I didn’t have to miss any of that.
From about 10pm Sunday night the contractions came. They were intense, but very spread-apart. They lasted long, but I would begin to doze off between them still. Unconvinced it was labor due to the infrequency, I moaned through the night, waking with each one. It was too painful to lie down. Too painful to stand up. I sat in the rocker for a couple of hours, disrupting Bob’s sleep on the couch (he’d left the bedroom because I was too noisy). So restless. I paced. I took a hot shower. Had 20 minutes of rest. Had a snack. The contractions came harder. I got louder. Trying to wait until morning to call Dr. Ramsey and ask if I could come in when the office opens. Bob is awake by 3:30 and watching me now; asking repeatedly if we should call Mom and go to the hospital. “No- they’re still too far apart,” I tell him. By 4am they’re often quite frequent, but still irregular. I’m trying to breathe. He’s waited long enough and declares it’s time. He calls and wakes Grandma Pegs, and she asks if we can wait 30 minutes til she arrives. “No… we need to go.” We write a note to the kids in case someone comes downstairs after a nightmare.
I’m sitting in the Suburban on a stack of towels (just in case). The 40 minute drive to Women’s Hospital is awful. I start timing the contractions before we get to the end of our street. They are suddenly every 2-4 minutes and lasting for at least 90 seconds. They are intense. I focus on relaxing and breathing through each one. Take bites of applesauce in between them, so thirsty and tired. Bumps in the road are excruciating. We pull up to the hospital at 5:05 am, minutes after the Women’s ER doors open. I think (foolishly) I can walk from the parking lot; Bob has to half-carry me in. I start leaking fluid (or something) during constant-seeming contractions. We get through the doors to the check-in desk. Quick information. A wheelchair now. ER nurses fly into action. Into bed, onto monitor, cervical check: 8cm. “Praise God”… guess this wasn’t all for a measly 5-6cm, like I’d feared. They’re digging for an iv site; I am exhausted, and this “other” pain is too much and I can’t help sobbing. ER doc steps in; calls my obstetrician. The nurses are whisking me down the hall to a delivery room. Dr. Ramsey in blue scrubs is standing at the end of the bed when I finally open my eyes. I’m entirely focused on relaxing and breathing and just letting this happen to me; let the nurses position me, on my back, feet up.
Bob is at my side, watching, anxious, asking repeatedly, “Can I get you anything?” No- just be right there. This is awful. I’d planned on an intrathecal for a “gentler” birth experience this time. There’s no time for anything.
I hear Dr. Ramsey quietly say “She’s complete” to the staff, then ask, “Do you feel pushy?” I ask, “Do I need to push?” “Well, it just might make you feel better if you did.” (I.e., “if you get this baby out, it’ll all be over.”)
“I’m not ready.” It’s only been a little over an hour since I realized I was in hard labor. I’m not psyched up, especially for sans-analgesia delivery. Time to push? Here we go, ready or not. “Help me, Jesus.”
My mind sends a piece of itself back to the labor wards of India; I’m seeing the brave Indian women laboring alone, and mentally imagining/watching the progression of this delivery while it’s happening to me.
Next contraction I bear down, feel my bag of waters bulge; Bob watches it explode all over the staff. “If you give me two big pushes, I think we’ll have a baby,” she tells me. It’s “the ring of fire” now, as we call it. Nowhere to go but forward… as quickly as possible. Push hard. Quick episiotomy. Push harder; head is born. Without waiting for another contraction, push out the body. She is born. Forty-five minutes after we pulled up to the hospital.
“Thank You, Lord.” It’s over. “What is it?” I ask Bob, who’s awestruck. He’s waiting on the doctor to announce gender. I want him to. He leans down to the end of the bed to look.
“It’s a girl! We had a baby girl!”
Off to the warmer for some oxygen to pink her up a bit. Truly, in unassisted labor, when it’s over, it’s over. I’m in my right mind again, suddenly. Some sewing up down below, a few minutes of gentle help to baby Anna (APGARS were 5 and 9), and she’s back on my chest. Without any suggestion or assistance, she immediately scoots her way down to nurse, and latches on without hesitation. That was amazing. “Well, she’s quick about getting on with life, isn’t she?” the staff ask with a chuckle.
The experience was so fast and so un-prepared for, it was entirely surreal to me. I’d have thought I’d be more “ready”, but somehow it snuck up on me. Kind of like God and His authoring of Anna.
I’d prayed about having a baby while I was in Birth Attendant School. I had no leading from God to pursue it, and a newborn seemed ill-fit to our family’s challenges, position, and direction, so I gave that up pretty quickly. What do I know? Turns out she’s exactly perfect for our family’s challenges, position, and direction. I have no idea the fullness of her purpose; I could never know it all. But what I do know is the most profound blessing can come in a profoundly unexpected and confusing package. What I know is that God writes the best stories, even when they completely disorient us initially. That He overcomes real trauma, pain, loss, and disillusionment with powerful redemption, joy, peace, and hope. That He is God of life, of vision, of future. He walks us through facing all sorts of unspoken fears and forms of unbelief to show us WHO HE IS and what He does when we give Him an unreserved “yes”.
I am astounded. I am riding a postpartum emotional rollercoaster, wading through the struggles of long-transitioning 13, 9, 8, 6 year olds (not to mention Bob’s and my own). Half of my children and I weep and stumble together down roads of painful memories and losses of early mother days and tragic separations. We’re not sure how to process all of this combined joy and agony. One child, semi-launched, is still half a world away, preparing to re-enter into this old geographical and new family landscape.
I’m sleep-deprived, muscle-sore (even just almost-7 hard years take a toll on a body, and it’s definitely different this time around); I’m milked-dry only to be engorged again. Anna and I are spending the days learning each other while she adjusts to the strange demands of this outside world and all the “things” in it. Our favorite place is skin-to-skin, belly-to-belly, in a dark bedroom with some Joshua Bell playing Bach on violin in the background. The gifts of these moments of peace, dependency-met, vulnerability to each other, and raw mother-to-child bonding as creation intended… I want to treasure them up and store them in my heart, like Mary with her incomprehensible gift in Jesus’ arrival. I am much more aware of the moments than I ever could have been before. More aware of their significance, value, transience, and vulnerability. My perspective and experience of motherhood (and bearing life) is completely altered from what it was when I began walking its road 10 years ago. Praise God it is ever-changing as He graciously teaches me with great long-suffering.
Welcome to all of it, little Anna, and may the grace & peace of Jesus enclose you before and behind, all of your days. I’ll finish with the blessing a precious one offered over Anna’s brand-new life:
“What a gift your life is, little one, and what a gift it is to you that you are received with such joy and such love. We are rejoicing for you, and with you — that you will be healthy and strong, and begin to soak up so much of the wonder and mystery of the world and the love of your family as you grow and develop; that you will learn and grow and that you will feel safe and secure as you are inundated with so much newness. We pray too for your family as they do their best to understand you and care for you; that they will be strong and healthy as sleep is interrupted and physical demands are considerable; for your siblings, that this will be a time that is more joyful than difficult; that they will experience the joy of seeing a new addition to a family.” Amen and amen.
