Monday, March 19, 2012
So, obviously, I lived through bedrest. 8 weeks of it, to be exact. And now, I'm 3 weeks postpartum, and figured now is as good a time as any to tell you the story of our second miracle. Sorry it's taken so long... thanks for asking, and some of you-harassing me to write it out.
January 3, I was put on bedrest due to early dilation, losing my mucus plug, and lower pressure that was concerning my doctor. I was on pelvic rest for weeeeeeeeeks, and sorry, but my motivation to write or do just about anything else was at an all time low. Fast forward to 36 weeks pregnancy... I thought I was in the clear and went to my doctor's appointment ready to celebrate using my legs again.
It didn't happen.
Suddenly, there was protein in my urine and my blood pressure was very high. Headed to hospital for monitoring... not pre-eclampsia, but grounded to my recliner AGAIN. Bummed out beyond words.
Move ahead to 38 weeks. We had just had our annual leadership conference at church. I had just had a house FULL of men for the week, was up and around with normal blood pressure, hoping my water would break at any minute.
Sunday, February 26, I got up to shower and get ready for church. For the men who read this, I'll spare you the gory details. But when I went to the bathroom, I was bleeding, and knew this was it. I called Rodrick, Mom, Lori, and Dad. They were all in church but had their phones on alert in case the call came in. I called the doctor, explained the situation, and was told to meet her at the hospital within two hours. So, my team descended into the house and to the hospital we went.
I wasn't having any contractions, my water never broke- just bleeding a bit. I get to the hospital, unsure if the verdict was baby or no baby. When Dr. Chait came into the room, she didn't even examine me and said, "You're staying. We're having a baby today." Cheers erupted from Mom and Lori. Here we go.
The nurses start Pitocin (which, after our first birth I swore I'd never do again.) Dr. Chait broke my water (yucccccky). The contractions started within fifteen minutes. This was around 3:00 pm. My room was filled with my family and close friends. The mood had been light and exciting. But let me tell you-- when the contractions hit, the games were over. My contractions were hitting me every two minutes and it didn't take long for me to ask for my epidural. (Yep-- I "chickened out" and proud of it.) The epidural started working pretty quickly. But it also was clear pretty quickly that it wasn't enough to mask the now minute-and-fifteen-seconds-coming contractions... not even close. So, I got a booster in my epidural, and magic happened.
Around 7:30, my nurse Stacy (ADORED HER) came to check me. By now, the booster had worn off and I was hurting like a beast in a field being pecked to death by vultures. Mom asked her to guess how long she thought it would be until Walker's arrival. She estimated midnight. I started crying because I just knew I couldn't do another five hours with Pitocin contractions. At about 8:00 pm, I was hurting even more, so Stacy said she wanted to check me again and see if anything had happened. Now- keep in mind that at 7:30, I was 50% thinned, 5 centimeters dilated, and Walk was at a -2 station still. At the 8:00 check, as she was actually checking me, my Mom asked if I was having any pressure.
MOM- Are you having pressure?
ME- No. But horrendous pain.
STACY- Are you sure? Because you're ready. Give me a small push and let me make sure.
ME- (small push)
STACY- (yells) STOP!!! Get Dr. Chait and get Rod back in here. (Poor guy had JUST stepped out to eat).
Nurses flew in like birds. Carts whirling in. Monitors starting. Checking. Contractions. Pain. And I'm laying there like a specimen, legs in stirrups- waiting. Rod was obviously at my side and I was holding on to him for dear life. Mom and Lori were at the foot, watching. My sweet Dad was in the corner behind my head. And finally- Dr. Chait makes her entrance.
She literally walked up to the bed, said, "When you're ready..." and at my next contraction, I pushed.
And within seconds, literally seconds- my son's voice filled the room. Walker Rodrick Allen Windham made his entrance at 8:31 pm, weighing 6 lb 2 oz, and measuring 19 inches long. My one-push-wonder. Mom and Lori were cheering. My Dad, silent and strong, crying. Rod and I hardly able to breathe from the pride and the moment we have waited for- for seven long years finally in our reality. Stacy later told us that ours was the only delivery she's ever cried in, and she had to look away to keep her composure in those last moments. It was a room filled with pure, unadulterated love.
So, here we are, three weeks later, and our magical boy is still wowing us every day. He is without a doubt angelic... hardly cries- but when he does, you better HUSTLE. He sleeps like a champ (now), eats like a Green Bay Packer, and has made it very clear that he's a mama's boy already (happy sigh). He squeaks like a mouse, hisses like a snake, and chirps like a bird.
The funny thing is being in this stage of our lives where we aren't believing God for a baby. We've been married for 15 years. For 13 of those years, we've been trying to conceive somebody. So, to be able to close this chapter of our marriage has been surreal. And we are absolutely, 110% DONE. To be able to hear Abi laughing at her shows, while hearing my little squeaker chirping in his swing has to be the best feeling in all the world. Because these two kids are each testimonies to the goodness of a gracious God who desires more than anything else for our hearts' desires to be fulfilled and overflowing. They are living, breathing examples of the integrity of the God we serve. They are exhibit 1 and 2 of favor, mercy, and pressing toward the prize even when you feel like giving up totally.
I'm trying to memorize these days. His fuzzy cheek. His tiny tongue, flickering like a lizard's. The way he looks when he's been upset and I get him into my arms-- he magically settles down. His scowls and wrinkled brow. His hands pulling at his face and then blaming me for it. His middle of the night bottle. The way he smells after his bath. Because my tendency is to always be ready to move on to "what's next." I am purposely not wishing these mundane days of newborness away. I know what's next contains mud, sweat, busted lips, amphibians, and *gulp* independence. For now, all I need to know is that twice, I've witnessed the miraculous. Twice, I've given Rodrick a child. Twice, I've rented my body out to let the Lord create masterpieces that this world needs. Twice, I've lost the baby weight (well, almost this time). Twice, I've bounced, patted, and sang a baby into blissful sleep. Twice, I've had the privilege of the pain and sheer agony of labor that ends in a triumph no marathon can copy. Twice, I've looked into the faces of tiny people who make my heart hurt at its core with overwhelming love. Twice, I've discovered what selflessness is about.
I could not ask for more.
And for the first time in fifteen years-- I won't.