We walked in the front doors a mix of joy and exhaustion... relief and apprehension. As we went in to registration I glanced over at the emergency room desk. I put my hand over her and breathed...
21 weeks had passed since the night we stood in that emergency room and feared the worst.
21 more weeks I had carried her... loved her... prayed for her... dreamed dreams for her. In those weeks we had named her, prepared a place for her, prepared our hearts for her, fought for her.
And here we were... in just a couple of hours she'd be here. In the surgical prep room we made small talk, we waited, but we were quiet. No one really said it out loud... but we were all scared. We'd walked this road for a long time teeth gritted and fists clenched... and you could tell. We wore it all over our faces. The many sleepless nights... the fear... the hope... the laying her in His hands over and over again.
After they'd laid me on the table and began... I remember asking for more oxygen. The nurse told me my levels were fine... but it felt so hard to breathe. I just wanted to hear her cry. A few minutes in Dr. Goerish said she saw a foot and seconds later I heard her scream. I have never heard anything more beautiful... never.
She's breathing... oh thank you Jesus she's breathing...
"Is she okay?"
"She's just fine."
For a few seconds Micaiah brought her over and I touched her little face... her fingers... felt her warmth... watched her little chest go up and down in sweet steady rhythm. When they took her upstairs my entire body relaxed. The next two hours a a blur. I had a hard time coming off of the meds but I remember Micaiah and my mom coming back and forth and I would keep asking and they would keep telling me.
Later that day... when I held her for the first time... and my whole world stopped. Nothing prepares you to hold that kind of weight in your arms. I stared at her in disbelief. No tubes. No oxygen. No interventions whatsoever. She was perfect... beautiful and absolutely perfect and not one thing was wrong with her.
It wasn't until a couple of nights later that it truly hit me.
I was alone with her... lying in the quiet of the hospital room just taking her in when I finally said it out loud.
She's okay... oh Jesus... she's okay... she's really okay.
Then the tears came... hard and long... tears that wouldn't stop. I think I said it to myself about a thousand times that night... and the tears just kept coming.
They didn't stop that night... or the next day... or the day we came home. In fact... for the first several days we were home I would burst into tears at any given moment if I simply looked at her.
I'd wake up in the middle of the night just to make sure she was breathing. I'd worry over every little sound... every small thing she did. I probably would have taken her to the emergency room 55 times that first week if my husband hadn't gently talked some sense into me.
But that's the thing... when you've feared the worst... for so long... it's hard to just let go and accept that everything is okay... Which sounds awful I know... I know.
I'm supposed to trust Him. I do trust Him. But I've seen the other side of it... the scary side of it. The side where things are not okay. I watched my parents loose a baby and it's awful... awful. So it's hard to just let go.
But one night... while rocking her to sleep... I realized something. No matter how many times a night I wake up to make sure she is breathing. No matter how careful I am with her, how much I protect her, how deeply I love her... there is so much I cannot control. And so I cried one more time... told Him how deeply I loved my daughter and laid her once again in the arms that have carried her this far.
Because the thing is... at the end of the day... there is very little I can do for her besides love her well and point her to Him.... besides live with intention and make the most of every moment I have with her. The best most beautiful gift I will ever give her is a mommy whose heart is at peace with the fact that He really does have the whole world in his hands... even the litty bitty baby...
Even now... in the middle of the night when she cries... I smile.
She is a living breathing miracle. And I know in my heart that the rest of her story will be just as beautiful as what He's already written for her.
He still does miracles... Mountains still move. My hope is knowing her story will help you believe that. As for me... I'm holding the sweet beautiful proof.