One of the first big decisions I had to make as a mommy was my birthing plan. After a ridiculous amount of research, hearing sweet stories, reluctantly listening to stories that will scare the socks off of the bravest mom on the planet, and lots of prayer...lots of prayer, a decision was made. I was going to try natural childbirth. It was the safest thing for the baby, the safest thing for me, and my family didn’t think I could do it (which made me want to do it even more). Their opinions were not completely unfounded, I have been known to cry as though I’m being ripped apart when getting a small tube of blood drawn. I was going to be a mom now though. I could do this.
The day finally came. I was officially in labor. The bags were already packed and loaded in the car. Everything was going according to plan...my plan. That’s when God decided to team up with my daughter to teach me a lesson. It’s not about me. It’s not about my plan. The first jaw dropping, heartbreaking, gut wrenching moment I had as a mother was right before I met my first born. After several hours of labor, the doctor told us that our little Maggie was stuck in the birth canal. She had been stuck for quite some time. While she was not in danger yet, her heart rate was beginning to drop slightly. We were told that before she went into any sort of distress, it would be best to take her by cesarean section.
My first thoughts? This cannot be happening! This was not in my plan! This was not even remotely discussed! I’m supposed to experience ‘real’ childbirth! I’m supposed to push this baby girl out! I’m supposed to have that uninterrupted time with her after she is born! I’m supposed to feed her within the first hour! I’m supposed to sit at the little window while she gets her first bath! How can I do that if I’m in surgery?!
I, for the first time, had to think of someone else’s well being before my own desires. After I came to grips with what was about to happen, our family gathered around my blubbering self while we prayed together for my safety and for the safety of my daughter who was about to change my life forever.
It was at 9:33pm, over 24 hours after arriving to the hospital with contractions, that I met my sweet, stubborn, brown haired, blue eyed baby girl. It was right before I saw her for the first time that I realized my heart was forever changed. My first words were “Is she ok?” In that moment, that’s all that mattered to me. I didn’t care about myself, about her physical appearance, about anything else. I just needed to hear that my daughter was safe. I was told that we definitely made the right decision. She was stuck far enough to where there would have been no way to naturally get her out without surgery. We prevented a lot of distress on our sweet baby by making the quick decision when we did. I was overwhelmed with joy, relief, gratitude...
It wasn’t more than a few minutes later that I had to watch as they put her in a basket and carted her out of the room and out of my sight. She was healthy, safe, and being guarded by her daddy, but I wanted to burst into tears. I had never even touched my daughter, and she was already being taken away from me. The next few hours consisted of laying in a bed in a dark, quiet room while weaving in and out of consciousness as I tried to fight the medication. I vaguely remember, more than once, waking up and asking the nurses to go check on my baby. I don’t think I ever stayed awake long enough for them to answer me.
I was still fighting to stay awake when I realized I was being wheeled into a room. I heard someone say, “He’s in there rushing the nurses. They should be here any minute.” The next thing I remember is seeing my husband, out of breath, and grinning from ear to ear. He picked up our precious baby girl, and that’s when I held her for the first time. With only a few minutes to spare, my husband made sure I held our daughter on her birthday. I will always be grateful to him for making that happen. I will always remember that he is the reason I held my daughter the day she was born. I will always remember how much my heart grew that day.
What do I want other moms to take from my story?
Whether you agree or disagree with a mother’s choice of how she will bring a child into this world, remember it is exactly that. A mother’s choice. I never thought I would be a “c-section mom” but that was God’s plan for me. I love my story. I love my children just as much as a mother who had her children naturally. I know Facebook provides an outlet for so many different opinions to be voiced, but let’s be wise with the words we choose when sharing those opinions. We do not know the story behind most of the choices people make. It is up to us to be accepting and tolerant of others’ decisions. As much as I try not to, I get offended with every post I see “bashing” mothers whose babies were born by c-section. While I know my circumstances did not provide me with much of a choice, we do not know the circumstances other mothers face when choosing the same birthing method as I did.
I don’t want to leave my sweet boy out of the story. He came along just shy of 14 months later. Because my children were born so close, it was for my own safety that I made the decision to have a c-section with him as well. I knew what to expect with him. I knew the emotions I would feel during and after the surgery. I knew the pain I would feel during recovery. I knew there shouldn’t be any surprises. How did my Levi decide to leave his mark on his birthing story? He surprised us. He decided to show up a few weeks early. The good news is he was healthy, happy, and caused my heart to grow even more. Oh, and he was born at 2:21am, so I had plenty of time to love on him the day he was born. :)
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