Her Birthday

...it is not a slight thing when they,

who are so fresh from God,

love us.

Charles Dickens

Wonder of all wonderment!

Momentous moment when small form

First feels life in itself.

When new eyes open wide

On old, old world.

When tiny hands handle air;

Touch tenderness and love.

When ears first wake to sound

And silent lips find voice and food.

Soon newly wakened baby wearies.

World will keep.

Being born is quite enough

For one short day.

Baby hands rest;

Baby mouth yawns;

Baby eyes close in sleep.

"Baby's First Day" by Mary Dawson Hughes

{last belly shot, 38 weeks, 6 days}

It was scheduled and planned. There were no late night labor pains, no broken water, no midnight scurrying to make it to the hospital. The alarm went off at 5:00 a.m. on April 2, 2010, Good Friday, and with nervous excitement we rose, dressed, and drove to the hospital. The house was tidy and the boys were with their grandparents, my bag was packed, my hair clean and styled, and, yes, my make-up was in place. As I carefully applied mascara that morning the professor queried, "You're putting on your make-up for a c-section?" "It's not every day that a girl meets her daughter for the first time," I replied.

The halls of the third floor at the hospital were dim and quiet when we arrived. The professor was told to wait in the empty waiting area while I was admitted. The nurses led me to a room and instructed me to change; in no time I donned my hospital-issue gown, stuffed my clothes in a plastic bag, and nervously settled into bed. It had been a slow night on the labor and delivery floor and I was the first patient of the day... she would be the first baby of the day.

The professor joined me and snapped photos while I tried hard not to pass out as the nurse inserted my i.v. We attempted to make light conversation, we wondered if the boys were awake for the day, and we waited. We didn't talk about names, just as we hadn't the night before when we stayed up way too late. The anesthesiologist came in and we discussed anesthesia. I was told that once the epidural was in place my husband could be at my side. At 7:15 I said a momentary goodbye to him and the nurses walked me across the hall to the operating room.

The room was cold, sterile, and brightly lit. Dr. Smith, already scrubbed and ready, made lighthearted small talk with me while my medical team made quick work of their tasks... epidural, monitors, draping. I remember being fearful that the doctors would start working on me before I was completely numb. "I can feel that," I kept telling them every time someone touched me... they patiently put up with my fears. Before I knew it the professor was at my side clad in sterile scrubs. This being my third cesarian I didn't anticipate being overcome with nerves or dread but when he sat down next to me I remember telling him, "I don't want to do this again." The doctors were already at work.

She was born at 7:44 a.m. I heard a squeaky whimper and then a scream... my eyes filled with tears. "Is she really a girl," I asked. The professor nodded. Dr. Smith held her up over the curtain so that I could see her. My baby girl, my daughter, was here. She was beautiful and tiny. The nurses hovered and scurried over her, the professor followed them across the room, I lay on the table and listened.

She screamed... and screamed... and screamed. She was loud. The doctors and nurses noted that her petite size wasn't inhibiting her lung capacity.

The professor bounced between the two of us, taking photos of her then returning to my side to show them to me.

It's an interesting feeling to be the stationary center point in a room with seemingly controlled and choreographed tasks happening all around oneself. I focused on taking in the sounds and smells, desperately trying to "fill in" what I couldn't see. At some point someone said, "Five pounds, fifteen ounces, and nineteen inches long!" I was shocked. I'd spent the entire pregnancy anticipating the birth of my biggest baby, not my smallest.

A nurse finally brought her to me. I spoke to her while stroking her soft cheek and she stopped screaming. She knew my voice! At that moment, still physically immobilized on the operating table, my heart overflowed with love.

She was whisked away to the nursery; the professor went with her, of course. I know the doctors worked quickly to put me back together but it seemed to take forever. I was wheeled to recovery where I was to "recover" for one hour before I could go to my room and hold my baby. From 8:15 to 9:15 I watched every minute slowly tick past on the large clock hanging on the wall opposite of my bed.

True to their word, an hour later they took me to my room where the professor was waiting and together we waited some more for baby to come from the nursery. They were having a difficult time regulating her temperature... we waited... we decided on her name... I called my parents... we waited. Finally she was in my arms.

Just as her size took me by surprise, I couldn't believe that she actually had red hair. I've always thought that one of my blonde sisters would have a red headed baby girl, not me... that's the way red hair seems to skip around in our family. She was tiny and beautiful and mine... a little dolly placed in my arms, an answer to a prayer that I'd hardly dared to pray.


One of the greatest delights that day, and of the past few weeks, was watching him become the father of a daughter... so special.

After the birth most of the day is a blur... pain... medication... family... spinning room... nausea... so much love and happiness and thanksgiving.

My in-laws brought the boys to the hospital just as I requested. I wanted to see them and I knew they needed to see me, to know that I was okay, and they needed to meet their sister. They were hesitant at first, more concerned about me than interested in her. We discussed my hospital bracelets and my "hurt spot" -- they wanted to know when I would be able to walk, we shared a Sprite.

It didn't take long for their curiosity in her to take over.

Our parents all visited that day and rejoiced with us. Passing her around we marveled over a life so fresh and new. It was, indeed, a good, good Friday.

We named her in honor of our mothers, two Godly women who each have a deep and steadfast faith in God. It is our prayer and greatest desire that from an early age she will embrace the faith of her forefathers, a heritage laid out before her by the previous generations, and that she will love the Lord her God with all her heart, soul, mind, and strength. May we be found faithful in training up she and her brothers in the way they should go so that even when they are old they will not depart from it.

All glory to our God and Father, for He has done marvelous things!