"It's Happy Birthday Day". . . those four words would forever change my life--our life. I wasn't expecting you on that Tuesday morning in August. Just the evening before, Dr. Linzey had determined that you were still content to room in your first home for a few more days. You see, you were inked to be born on Friday, August 31st, 2007. Although, there were signs that, perhaps, my accommodations were not the Four Seasons--sadly, more like a Super 8 motel. You weren't growing as well as we hoped; your heart rate was dipping dangerously low at those fun non-stress tests, and worry was in the air. Well, on that 28th day of August, your heart rate was decelerating lower than it had before, more like plummeting to about 60 BPM. It was so frightening to think that just when I was so close to meeting you . . . you may not. . . ; well, I won't sully my first letter to you with morose thoughts. So, yes, your heart rate was dropping to 60-70 BPM, but then just like the lively girl you are today, your heart rate would then climb back up to the normal 150 BPM. Even in the womb, dear T, you made your spirited nature known. You would kick at all times of the day; you had hiccups constantly, and I would never let you rest. With my constant doppler use, the incessant tests and doctor appointments, I wonder if you were ever able to relax at all in your Super 8 room. Nevertheless, even with your fighting spirit, it was time for you to be born according to a nurse and Dr. Linzey that day. You were born via cesarean section-not what I wanted necessarily; yet, with all the mounting issues both you and I were experiencing, a c-section was the way to go. As they were operating on me to get to you, Daddy was sitting next to me, holding my hand. He said I held on so tight. . . tight because it was surgery, of course; very tight because I was praying and hoping you would be born alive and well. The surgery was a blur, but the words right before they called your time of birth were not: " Wow, Dr. Linzey, you weren't kidding, this baby is so high up there." I still don't know what they meant by, "so high up there." Up where? Hmmm. . . . Dr. Linzey then said, "Well, this is a definitely a girl." The nurse took you quickly, and I peeked over to see you. Only a peek because I was so wrought with fear. The nurse brought you over to the scale and the Neonatologist joined her. You had swallowed meconium and they needed to get all that unsavory stuff out of your lungs. They motioned to Daddy to come over and see you; Daddy looked at you with the most adoring eyes I had ever seen. He looked at me and gave me a thumbs up, and I knew at that point that we had a baby. . . you. . . beautiful T. All the woes, anxiety, fears, I had were gone. Jubilation had taken over in its place. The nurse wrapped you tightly and brought you over to me. I said, "Can I kiss her?" "Of course, you can. She's your baby." My baby. My baby. My baby. The words consumed me as I kissed your little forehead. I still remember that face; the face that Daddy saw in a dream, and the face that made all my dreams come true.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
"It's Happy Birthday Day". . . those four words would forever change my life--our life. I wasn't expecting you on that Tuesday morning in August. Just the evening before, Dr. Linzey had determined that you were still content to room in your first home for a few more days. You see, you were inked to be born on Friday, August 31st, 2007. Although, there were signs that, perhaps, my accommodations were not the Four Seasons--sadly, more like a Super 8 motel. You weren't growing as well as we hoped; your heart rate was dipping dangerously low at those fun non-stress tests, and worry was in the air. Well, on that 28th day of August, your heart rate was decelerating lower than it had before, more like plummeting to about 60 BPM. It was so frightening to think that just when I was so close to meeting you . . . you may not. . . ; well, I won't sully my first letter to you with morose thoughts. So, yes, your heart rate was dropping to 60-70 BPM, but then just like the lively girl you are today, your heart rate would then climb back up to the normal 150 BPM. Even in the womb, dear T, you made your spirited nature known. You would kick at all times of the day; you had hiccups constantly, and I would never let you rest. With my constant doppler use, the incessant tests and doctor appointments, I wonder if you were ever able to relax at all in your Super 8 room. Nevertheless, even with your fighting spirit, it was time for you to be born according to a nurse and Dr. Linzey that day. You were born via cesarean section-not what I wanted necessarily; yet, with all the mounting issues both you and I were experiencing, a c-section was the way to go. As they were operating on me to get to you, Daddy was sitting next to me, holding my hand. He said I held on so tight. . . tight because it was surgery, of course; very tight because I was praying and hoping you would be born alive and well. The surgery was a blur, but the words right before they called your time of birth were not: " Wow, Dr. Linzey, you weren't kidding, this baby is so high up there." I still don't know what they meant by, "so high up there." Up where? Hmmm. . . . Dr. Linzey then said, "Well, this is a definitely a girl." The nurse took you quickly, and I peeked over to see you. Only a peek because I was so wrought with fear. The nurse brought you over to the scale and the Neonatologist joined her. You had swallowed meconium and they needed to get all that unsavory stuff out of your lungs. They motioned to Daddy to come over and see you; Daddy looked at you with the most adoring eyes I had ever seen. He looked at me and gave me a thumbs up, and I knew at that point that we had a baby. . . you. . . beautiful T. All the woes, anxiety, fears, I had were gone. Jubilation had taken over in its place. The nurse wrapped you tightly and brought you over to me. I said, "Can I kiss her?" "Of course, you can. She's your baby." My baby. My baby. My baby. The words consumed me as I kissed your little forehead. I still remember that face; the face that Daddy saw in a dream, and the face that made all my dreams come true.
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