I remember the day Meredith was born like it was the first day my life began. Probably because it was. I remember that day two weeks prior to her birthday when I was told I would have to birth her via c-section. I cried. And cried. And cried. I had been robbed. Robbed, I tell you. Robbed of my God-given right to introduce my child into this world the way He had intended. I drove to Chris’ office and laid my head upon his desk and bawled. I was terrified. All those episodes of Baby Story and Bringing Home Baby and each time a c-section was performed I would take the opportunity to venture to the kitchen and re-up on my stockpile of Doritos and Ridgies and sour cream. I didn’t need to watch that, read up on that, know about that. I had been mentally preparing myself for nine months to push this clamouring little being out of a 10 cm entrance into the Great Unknown. In fact, it was the first thought that rushed through my mind when I peed on that stick. (OMG! There’s a baby growing in there that has to come out! Out! Of there!)
During those last two weeks of my first pregnancy, I forced myself to be okay with the idea and, with Chris’ support and encouragement, I nervously climbed into our truck on the morning of March 22, 2007 and left home to welcome my child into the world any way I had to.
They went through the 20 thousand questions, prepped me and wheeled me in. Chris sat at my head and rubbed my hand and cheek and talked me through the procedure right up until that first cry. That beautiful cry. The cry that meant that everything was okay. Everything was as it should be. Our MereBear had successfully, healthily entered the world. The tears came in bounties.
Madelynn’s birthday was very similar to Meredith’s and when I got home from the hospital and sat down with Mere on my left knee and Adie in my right arm, I wept. I was overwhelmed with joy at what God had been so gracious to give me. Absolutely grateful at the blessings that I counted over and over and over again. What had I done to deserve these two beautiful little girls?
I’ve been blogging for a few months now, but reading the blogs of other mommies for quite some time. My heart cries for those who don’t have a similarly happy story to tell. It breaks for those whose tears come from a place darker than anyone should have to endure. I mourn with them and celebrate with them and pray for them every day.
They remind me to be thankful.