Table for three
I am the middle child of two sisters. I have cousins who have no less than 3 children EACH. My own sister has FOUR. On my husband's side, his dad is the oldest of four. His mom is the oldest of TEN! So many uncles and aunts and cousins. I love the loud noises and boisterous gathering that comes with big families. We once joked about having four, or a soccer team, ourselves! Then realistically decided that two would be better for us......And with my history of Preeclampsia, we are perfectly happy with our 'table for three.'
I know that there are women who had Preeclampsia with their first pregnancy and had healthier pre-eFree pregnancies after. There are women with mild preeclampsia and then it progressively got worse after each pregnancies. Our bodies are so weird!
Allow me to pause for a moment to say that I don't want anyone - the government, random people, the church - to have a say on what I can and cannot do with my body. PERIOD. It's MY BODY and MY CHOICE.
That being said, however, I am PROLIFE. There are women who have infertility issues and women who just hope that once that baby's life is forming, prays that their bodies don't reject them. I can't even begin to tell you how many prayers I've uttered after my diagnosis at 26 weeks.
26 weeks.
When first time moms go to their first ultrasound and hear the heartbeat, see the little life moving and dancing about...... life seems to just slow down for a moment and hyper focus on this little being. And then you try not to get too excited and wait for the first trimester to pass before you start beaming and telling the whole world that your title as MOTHER is one that you'll be so proud to wear.
And life starts to plan itself about names, nursery décors, baby showers, maternity/newborn shoots, hospitals, the list goes on and on. The pregnancy "goes without a hitch" for a while. The first kick was hands down the moment that my little self realized "holy CRAPPERS!! I AM having a baby!!!"
And then a doctor tells you that there might be a concern.
A midwife tells you to buy a blood pressure cuff, record your readings three times a day. Stay off your feet as much as possible.
The receptionist schedules you to come in once every two weeks.
And then once a week.
And then your beautiful OB sits you down, holds your hand, looks at you straight in the eye and then says that all your birth plans that you've been sharing with me... we might need to revise that right now.
And then your heart breaks a little. Hope becomes something you want to hold on to and pray that your faith is good enough to warrant a favor from a God that you've been praying your whole life to.
26 weeks. Your baby can finally hear your voice. And you try to sound hopeful, excited and try to quench that raising panic that you know is just bubbling deep inside you. And then you wonder if she can feel the worry. And then you worry how that's going to affect her.
At 26 weeks, your baby can mimic breathing. She is inhaling and exhaling small amounts of amniotic fluid but her lungs aren't quite developed.
You go to an appointment at 30 weeks on a Friday. Your OB looks at your work badge, pursues her lips and reminds you that you need to be off your feet as much as possible. She threatens to call your boss and you just nod and say I'll tell them as soon as I leave here.
And then that Monday, you are called and they tell you that you are going to come in Thursday for an ultrasound. Lab tests that you did last Friday came back and we need to see you. Have you told your boss yet?
So finally, you call your boss. You type up duties, lists of things to do for your staff, you approve time, their vacation and in the back of your head, wonder if you'll be back to continue in the same monotony. Continue to counsel expectant moms. Hold babies, smile at children. IF there was a remote possibility that my baby wasn't going to make it...... could my heart take in this much happiness, this much LIFE?
But you've always been the strong one. You've always been the planner. The one with the to-do lists.
For some reason, I knew that I wasn't going to walk out of the appointment Thursday. I packed my bags and prayed that I was wrong.
But mothers know...... even from the very beginning, they know.
I was admitted that day. And you learn to be disappointed. You learn every time a nurse comes in to look you over. You learn when they tell you to stay on your left side. You learn when the night nurse comes in on Friday at midnight that she called your doctor. You learn to be disappointed when at 31 weeks, your OB looks at you early Saturday morning and tells you that an emergency cesarean was scheduled that morning.
I know I wasn't sad. I didn't cry when I was being wheeled into the operating room. Didn't utter a word when she said my placenta was about to abrupt. Didn't cry when I understood the grim of that single close call.
I didn't shed a single tear when I saw her pitiful face, enclosed in an incubator with tubes and wires in and all around her.
I didn't even cry when they wheeled her away from me, down to another city where they had a NICU, almost two hours away.
Not even when being told by NICU nurses that I couldn't hold her, just yet. Not at single tear.
And the tiny embers of hope started to flicker.
You start to see her growth. You can finally hold her. She frowns like you and that makes you smile.
The hope flickers and then burns.
Seeing her for four or five hours a day, you start notice her little personality. You notice her curiosity. You smile when she smiles. Your broken heart may mend after all. Being close to her, breathing her in and listening to her soft baby sighs, you realize that she's mending your wounded soul. There is a light at the end of this tunnel and she's lighting the way.
Your faith strengthens. You pray and pray and don't stop until home becomes this reality.
.........and then the tears come when you begin to live in this new reality.
A whole world ahead of her and already, you cry for the preeclampsia in her future, an inheritance you don't want to give.
You cry for developmental delays, speech, hearing, learning and the prayers never cease. And the GRATITUDE that you've formed in place of HOPE becomes a permanent fixture in every milestone you check off.
Linking up at Fellowship Friday.
I know that there are women who had Preeclampsia with their first pregnancy and had healthier pre-eFree pregnancies after. There are women with mild preeclampsia and then it progressively got worse after each pregnancies. Our bodies are so weird!
Allow me to pause for a moment to say that I don't want anyone - the government, random people, the church - to have a say on what I can and cannot do with my body. PERIOD. It's MY BODY and MY CHOICE.
That being said, however, I am PROLIFE. There are women who have infertility issues and women who just hope that once that baby's life is forming, prays that their bodies don't reject them. I can't even begin to tell you how many prayers I've uttered after my diagnosis at 26 weeks.
26 weeks.
When first time moms go to their first ultrasound and hear the heartbeat, see the little life moving and dancing about...... life seems to just slow down for a moment and hyper focus on this little being. And then you try not to get too excited and wait for the first trimester to pass before you start beaming and telling the whole world that your title as MOTHER is one that you'll be so proud to wear.
And life starts to plan itself about names, nursery décors, baby showers, maternity/newborn shoots, hospitals, the list goes on and on. The pregnancy "goes without a hitch" for a while. The first kick was hands down the moment that my little self realized "holy CRAPPERS!! I AM having a baby!!!"
And then a doctor tells you that there might be a concern.
A midwife tells you to buy a blood pressure cuff, record your readings three times a day. Stay off your feet as much as possible.
The receptionist schedules you to come in once every two weeks.
And then once a week.
And then your beautiful OB sits you down, holds your hand, looks at you straight in the eye and then says that all your birth plans that you've been sharing with me... we might need to revise that right now.
And then your heart breaks a little. Hope becomes something you want to hold on to and pray that your faith is good enough to warrant a favor from a God that you've been praying your whole life to.
26 weeks. Your baby can finally hear your voice. And you try to sound hopeful, excited and try to quench that raising panic that you know is just bubbling deep inside you. And then you wonder if she can feel the worry. And then you worry how that's going to affect her.
At 26 weeks, your baby can mimic breathing. She is inhaling and exhaling small amounts of amniotic fluid but her lungs aren't quite developed.
You go to an appointment at 30 weeks on a Friday. Your OB looks at your work badge, pursues her lips and reminds you that you need to be off your feet as much as possible. She threatens to call your boss and you just nod and say I'll tell them as soon as I leave here.
And then that Monday, you are called and they tell you that you are going to come in Thursday for an ultrasound. Lab tests that you did last Friday came back and we need to see you. Have you told your boss yet?
So finally, you call your boss. You type up duties, lists of things to do for your staff, you approve time, their vacation and in the back of your head, wonder if you'll be back to continue in the same monotony. Continue to counsel expectant moms. Hold babies, smile at children. IF there was a remote possibility that my baby wasn't going to make it...... could my heart take in this much happiness, this much LIFE?
But you've always been the strong one. You've always been the planner. The one with the to-do lists.
For some reason, I knew that I wasn't going to walk out of the appointment Thursday. I packed my bags and prayed that I was wrong.
But mothers know...... even from the very beginning, they know.
I was admitted that day. And you learn to be disappointed. You learn every time a nurse comes in to look you over. You learn when they tell you to stay on your left side. You learn when the night nurse comes in on Friday at midnight that she called your doctor. You learn to be disappointed when at 31 weeks, your OB looks at you early Saturday morning and tells you that an emergency cesarean was scheduled that morning.
I know I wasn't sad. I didn't cry when I was being wheeled into the operating room. Didn't utter a word when she said my placenta was about to abrupt. Didn't cry when I understood the grim of that single close call.
I didn't shed a single tear when I saw her pitiful face, enclosed in an incubator with tubes and wires in and all around her.
I didn't even cry when they wheeled her away from me, down to another city where they had a NICU, almost two hours away.
Not even when being told by NICU nurses that I couldn't hold her, just yet. Not at single tear.
And the tiny embers of hope started to flicker.
You start to see her growth. You can finally hold her. She frowns like you and that makes you smile.
The hope flickers and then burns.
Seeing her for four or five hours a day, you start notice her little personality. You notice her curiosity. You smile when she smiles. Your broken heart may mend after all. Being close to her, breathing her in and listening to her soft baby sighs, you realize that she's mending your wounded soul. There is a light at the end of this tunnel and she's lighting the way.
Your faith strengthens. You pray and pray and don't stop until home becomes this reality.
.........and then the tears come when you begin to live in this new reality.
A whole world ahead of her and already, you cry for the preeclampsia in her future, an inheritance you don't want to give.
You cry for developmental delays, speech, hearing, learning and the prayers never cease. And the GRATITUDE that you've formed in place of HOPE becomes a permanent fixture in every milestone you check off.
Tears come every so often, as if there is still this possibility that maybe I've been dreaming the past three years. I'm still in the NICU, looking at this tiny creature, wondering who holds her when she cries, who shushes her to sleep when you're not there.
I cry for the babies that I've seen. The even tinier ones who's entire journey has been hooked up to machines. I can picture this beautiful baby boy next door to her and remember the hushed tones of the neonatologist telling the mom about this surgery or that surgery. I wonder if he made it. I wonder if they got to go home.
And I cry for unborn babies whose moms face a choice and want to scream that WE DIDNT HAVE A CHOICE EITHER BUT WE ARE DAMN MAKING IT.
And I want to cry thinking that she may or may not have this opportunity to play with a sibling; to know that there will be this little person that knows her, laughs with her and, be a keeper of her secrets.
......But always always, I pray. I cry. I pray some more. I have always been the strong one, the planner, the one with the to-do lists...... Oh but MY GOD is the stronger one, the Master planner and the One with a to-do list that I cannot even begin to imagine or comprehend and I have faith that whatever happens..... our table of three will be just fine.
......But always always, I pray. I cry. I pray some more. I have always been the strong one, the planner, the one with the to-do lists...... Oh but MY GOD is the stronger one, the Master planner and the One with a to-do list that I cannot even begin to imagine or comprehend and I have faith that whatever happens..... our table of three will be just fine.
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| Our first Easter photo |
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| Then and Now |
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| Surrounded by cousins FOR MORE INFO ABOUT PREECLAMPSIA,VISIT WWW.PREECLAMPSIA.ORG IF YOU WANT TO SUPPORT OUR WALK, GO TO WWW.PROMISEWALK.ORG/MARTINEZMUSKETEERS TO FIND A WALK IN YOUR AREA, VISIT WWW.PROMISEWALK.ORG |
Linking up at Fellowship Friday.
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