Amos Wesley - a birth story

"You are not hidden

There's never been a moment 

You were forgotten

You are not hopeless

Though you have been broken

I hear you whisper underneath your breath

I hear your SOS, your SOS

I will send out an army to find you

In the middle of the darkest night

It's true, I will rescue you

There is no distance

That cannot be covered 

Over and over

You're not defenseless

I'll be your shelter

I'll be your armor"

Overcome with emotion listening to this song on the radio one day (not for the first time, though striking me differently as I was several months pregnant, suffering in pain and fighting off exhaustion) I texted Stephen at a red light and said, "I want Lauren Daigle playing in the delivery room."

"You got it."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Partly due to Stephen's demanding schedule, partly due to my past quick labors and partly due to my unbelievable impatience, we set the date - I was going to be induced on November 23rd.

On Thursday evening, November 21st, I started experiencing some odd pains. They were primarily on my left side and they came on suddenly and sharp - shooting pains that caused baby to move, limbs jutting out of me as if frantically trying to escape, followed by a contraction and then cramping. There was no real rhyme or reason to them but no position and no amount of rest and water was making them go away. I fell asleep timing contractions that night, more confused by the pain than consumed by the thought of potential labor. Come Friday morning the pain was more persistent, though I had been able to sleep some. Every five minutes the pain would come, and a moment later a contraction would start. It seemed to last forever. It became hard to breathe and I couldn't take a deep inhale. I couldn't cough or sneeze and my stomach was extremely sensitive to the the touch.

When I went in to be monitored, I was dilated to a 2. Baby was fine and the contractions weren't consistent, but they couldn't explain the pain. We waited for an hour, expecting the pain medications to kick in, but they never did. Now, I was dilated to a 3. Our doctor assumed I was in early labor, contractions manifesting themselves in an unusual (and extra uncomfortable) way. I have had four babies now and this is the first time labor had ever brought me to tears. We had the option to hang around for another hour - if I came back dilated to a four or more, they'd keep me. As I wasn't 39 weeks until the next day, there wasn't anything else they could do. We decided to head home and wait it out - the pain medications had made me extra sleepy - though we all thought I'd be back by the end of the night.

I went home and slept for several hours. When I woke up, I was discouraged that nothing had changed. I wasn't feeling a whole lot better, but I wasn't feeling worse. Maybe baby wasn't ready yet, though Lord knows I was.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

The next morning, Saturday the 23rd, I woke up again surprised that "this thing" hadn't happened on it's own yet. I was in early labor yesterday - why did it stop? Was I really going to have to be induced after all?

Our induction was set for three pm, and we were told to call an hour before to make sure a room was still available. Our morning was long. I hate the waiting game.

We got everything ready, played with the kids, and met Nana and Papa for lunch at our little executive airport while watching the planes take off. When we got home and got Judah down for a nap, I heard Stephen call the hospital from the living room. It was a short conversation, and ended with "Ok, great. We'll see you soon." I peeked out of the bedroom the same time he stuck his head into the hallway... It was time!

I'll never forget the look on his face, or the feeling in my gut. Joy, terror, excitement, anxiety, fear, worry, happy, sad... How is it possible to feel so many emotions at once? And the amount of times you experience it doesn't alter the shock. Still, four kids in, the moment you know everything is about to change is still just as crazy as the first.

We made it to the hospital not too long after the phone call. We left Judah sleeping and Uriah and Ezra with my parents - "See you tomorrow!"

We made it to our room, with our busy and bustling nurse, around 3:30. For the first time in my pregnancies, I wasn't Strep B positive, so we weren't going to have to wait for the antibiotics to kick in. Everyone was in agreement, though: this baby was going to come fast, so our nurse worked to get everything ready to go before any steps were taken to officially start the induction.

Our doctor was the same from the previous day and I was happy she already knew our story and what I had been through. She checked and I was dilated to a 4, surprisingly little progress for what I had been feeling for almost 48 hours. We wanted to see if we could get things going on our own before starting Pitocin. Though the drug has worked well for me in the past, I was decently far along, having contractions, and we assumed as soon as we "got the ball rolling" he would come quickly, so I opted to try and jump start the process naturally, thinking we wouldn't need the extra push of medication.

After a quick exam, it was decided he was sunny-side up, which was deemed the excuse for some of the pain I had been experiencing, but also meant labor could be lengthened and more difficult. I was a little worried about him being ok, its ok to be born sunny-side up, right? And honestly, a lot worried about the pain, how much more can it hurt? We tried all sorts of positions on the bed and laps around the halls to get him to roll over and move down. I was having contractions all the while, but wasn't making any progress in dilation or descending.

Eventually, we started the Pitocin drip around 5:15.

From here on out, the timing and facts become a bit muddled. Not just because I'm writing this six months after the fact, but because nothing seemed to go according to plan (does it ever?) and no one was paying attention to the clock or writing things down.

I don't remember when I was checked, I think I was at a five, maybe a six, I remember being surprised and disappointed, and I also remember them telling me not to worry, I was making progress, and by comparison to others, though maybe not my previous labors, I was making progress and at a quick rate. But we were nearing the six o'clock hour and all our assumptions of another seven o'clock hour birth were starting to fade.

The epidural went in with much less drama than my most previous one, a happy change. And sometime after, around eight, they broke my water.

The contractions were starting to get more intense, and I was thankful for the epidural, though something wasn't quite right. As the pain started to intensify, there was one spot on my right side that didn't soften the blow like I felt elsewhere. It was as if the full force of the contraction was being concentrated to that one quarter size circle on my stomach and I couldn't think of anything except removing that pain.

Any position I felt comfortable in didn't last for long - my nurse, now a new and less busy one whom I grew to appreciate immensely, was always moving me around. Slowly, more and more people flooded the room. What is going on? The anesthesiologist came back in and attempted to fix my pain. I didn't like her at first but she seemed much softer now - she kept her hand on my shoulder and her eyes on the screens, tracking something with maternal worry. I was getting so confused. The pain was subsiding, but something wasn't right. No one was saying it but I could tell. It got harder to breathe and I got really hot. I felt an oxygen mask on my face and remember searching for Stephen with my eyes and feeble voice, hold me. He was there, his hand on mine, gripping the bedside along with me, his arm stuck through the nurses surrounding the bed and bustling about. I saw his face before he saw mine - he was watching the screens. He looked both like the doctor he is and the daddy he wanted to become. He looked scared. But when he found my eyes his expression changed and I knew he was fighting off anxiety to try and keep me calm. My nurse stroked my hair and wiped my tears.

"His heart rate is dropping, we can't seem to keep him happy for long."
"Let's try a new position."
"How far along is she?"
"I haven't checked in awhile, I'm afraid checking will cause more distress."
"He's not descending."
"We're going to back off the Pitocin."

"I hear you whisper underneath your breath

I hear your SOS, your SOS

I will send out an army to find you 

In the middle of the darkest night

It's true, I will rescue you"

Despite everyone's best efforts to remain calm, this wasn't going well and I knew it. And I was powerless to do anything about it. We couldn't keep his heart rate up for long and I was growing tired. My thoughts were muddled. Time was standing still yet escaped me completely. I was scared. I had so many questions but just didn't know where to begin, nor did I want to say them out loud - voicing them would make them real. Why is this happening? God, are you here? Is he ok? Is something really wrong? Am I going to be ok? God, where are you?

"I will never stop marching to reach you

In the middle of the hardest fight

It's true, I will rescue you"

All at once it was time to push.

I remember feeling excited. Ready. I remember thinking he must be fine now, everything must be fine. I wasn't being wheeled off to an emergency room, they were letting me push. He must have descended safely, finally. Right? I remember Stephen's face - anxious, excited, but worried and firm. He wasn't happy, not yet. I remember feeling like it was going really well - I knew what I was doing and was aware of the process my body was taking me through. I have always enjoyed the euphoria of labor. I remember there were more nurses than I requested, and everyone was still watching the screens. My eyes closed. I remember the attending yelling at me. The room was full of women and it felt like such an empowering moment - she was urging me on in solidarity and excitement. Stephen's grip got tighter. It was such a mixed bag of emotions. My thoughts and feelings didn't seem to match those on the faces around me or the palpable fear in the room. God, please. 

"I hear the whisper underneath your breath

I hear you whisper, you have nothing left"

And there he was. 

"I will send out an army to find you

In the middle of the darkest night

It's true, I will rescue you

I will never stop marching to reach you

In the middle of the hardest fight 

It's true, I will rescue you"

Waiting for that first cry was torture. Time stood still. I felt Stephen holding his breath along with our son.
And then it came. And with it, the relief.

"Oh, I will rescue you"

Once he cried, he didn't stop, and I have never loved a sound more. He was here. He was safe. He did it. I did it. We did it. I held him, convinced nothing could ever make me let him go. I smiled and laughed at his consistent cry, in delirious disbelief at the evening we had experienced. What had even happened?

But he was here. He was safe.

Born at 10:49 pm, well past our assumptions, he weighed 7 pounds, 9 ounces and was 18.75 inches long. He was perfect.

Our questions were eventually answered. The extreme pain I had been feeling the 48 hours leading up to his delivery was in fact early labor. The contractions were causing such intense and abnormal pain both because of my umbilical hernia and diastasis recti, and because of his sunny-side up position.
My contractions weren't dilating me past a 4, though, because they weren't strong enough to help him descend. They possibly never would have been on their own.
Amos was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around his ankles two times. It took the aid of Pitocin to, essentially, force him out.
Born bungee jumping.
Trying to descend against the taught umbilical cord was causing his heart rate to drop. Dramatically. The consistent beeping of the machines was letting us know his heart rate was in the 60s.
This was simultaneously causing my body stress, and though I don't remember it and wasn't aware in the moment, it appeared as if my life was just as much in the balance as Amos'.
My doctor was yelling at me, not from a place of excited empowerment but from desperation.
She was yelling as she was pulling.
Stephen's face was white and determined during the short three contractions it took for Amos to be born for good reason:
He was anticipating an emergency c-section.
He was contemplating the possibility of Amos not making it.
He was praying.

Amos means strong and brave, to be carried by God, and he lived up to those words that evening as we prepared to meet him face to face. I needed to be those things, too, for him.

But he was here. He was safe. That's all I knew.

We nursed. We snuggled. I sighed - oh the relief. We laughed. We baffled. It all just felt so. good. He was here. He was safe.

I didn't require any after care, so it seemed we were left alone to gaze in wonder rather quickly after his arrival. Those first 24 hours are magical, full of exhausted joy. My mom, who had been with us to take pictures, left us to be together. We slept. We smiled. My nurse who had combed back my hair and wiped my tears and offered her sweet and calming words was with us through the night and I was so grateful for her aid. While recovering from labor and beginning to breastfeed is far from glamorous, I remember that first night with rose colored glasses and it just feels so blissful.

He was here. He was safe. Thank you, God.

prologue

The persimmon tree is now bending under the weight of it's fruit.
So am I.
It's almost time.

Three was always our nonnegotiable. Maybe four, probably not five, definitely not just two. From the beginning, we both knew we wanted at least three children. I felt a strong, unexplainable, innate desire to, Lord willing, carry and birth at least three children. I am one of two, my husband one of three.
I guess we decided to round up.

Making the decision to have those said three children was easy. They were wanted and prayed for. Expected. Roughly two years between them each, they seemed to appear like clockwork, just as planned.

But we had always said "at least", which leaves room for more.

I am seven months pregnant, bending under the weight and pressure of this growing belly, just as our persimmon tree is starting to droop, almost ready for harvest.
I am watching it out my window.
She looks tired.
So am I.

Judah, our white blonde third, is our ellipsis. If we're being honest, I had to look up the technical name for it, but an ellipsis is the three dots at the end of a sentence. Not a period, because that would be the end of that. But not a comma or a semi colon, either. That would imply that more is coming, and in a timely manner. But those three dots...

I use them all the time in my writing. Sometimes I use them to let my thought linger, imply hope and intrigue, like a small cliff hanger. But sometimes I just let my thought drift off, starting again on something new the next day.

Is there more coming? Or is that the end? Will the thought continue? Or will a new thought or chapter begin?

Almost as soon as I got pregnant with Judah I started to ask my husband (my poor, poor husband) "is this it?" "Are we going to be done?" "Do you want one more?" "Two more?!" "Is this the last time I'll do this?" "Are his firsts, my lasts?" Dot, dot, dot...

The fruit is mostly still green, but when the sun hits it just right you can see tinges of orange.
She's almost ready.
So am I.

You wouldn't know it by the closest age gap, but this baby was talked about, debated and questioned more than any of the others. Even our first - at age 22, married less than one year, at the beginning of my husband's medical school years (and the beginning of our medical school debt) - was an easy decision. We weren't so flippant as to just say "sure why not?!" and throw out the pills that very day, but there wasn't much contemplation all the same.

We prayed and prayed and prayed some more. I begged God for a sign. "Are we complete?" "Should we have one more?"

He was as silent as our persimmon tree is now, not the slightest breeze to ruffle her leaves.
She looks firm.
So am I.

We decided God's silence was no more a screaming yes than a blaring no. Surely, if this wasn't right He would stop us. (Twelve weeks into this pregnancy, covered in my own blood, weeping on the bathroom floor, I thought He was stopping us. But that's a different story for a different day.)

I screamed out loud after I got off the phone with my OB, making the appointment to get my IUD removed. And then, naturally, called my best friends to scream some more.

The day of the appointment I was still questioning our decision. Wanting another baby while simultaneously thinking we were pushing our luck and stretching our limits.
Four babies is a lot of babies.

But we had always said "at least".

If Judah was our ellipsis, we were handing the pen to God and anxiously waiting to see what happened next.

A spider web, delicately strung between two branches, glistens in the sun.
A squirrel scampers down her trunk, a mocking bird perches on her arm.
She looks like a safe home.
So am I.

One month later, I peed on a stick.
Pregnant.
Looks like our story continues...

positive

March 19, 2019

I had told Stephen I would take a test on March 16th. I could be exactly three weeks pregnant, and while it would be early, it was the equivalent to when I tested positive with both Ezra and Judah - exactly three weeks.

While I had experienced a few early pregnancy symptoms that week, there wasn't anything too consistent or extreme that pointed directly at pregnancy. I had gotten lightheaded a few more times than normal (like I did with Ezra in the first few weeks), maybe I had been peeing more frequently (like I had with Uriah) and I was certainly bloated and cramping (but maybe I was just due to start my period soon). Despite the fact that I tried to convince myself I wasn't pregnant, I just felt like I was. And I was sorta in disbelief about it! There was just no way it would happen so quickly! I had gotten my IUD taken out on February 7th and it had taken me two weeks to get a period back, so this would have been our first shot. Surely, even despite my past fertile history, even despite the fact that I felt pregnant, surely it would take at least two months...

Stephen told me I could pee on as many sticks as I wanted (is anyone else addicted to this?!) as long as he was there. I found out I was pregnant with all three kiddos while Stephen was gone at work and about five minutes after I told him about Judah he made me promise that he could be there for the next one! So, convinced I was pregnant, but also aware it might be too early, I peed on a stick the morning of March 16th. I wasn't supposed to look at it first, but I could tell it was negative even without my glasses on. I passed it to Stephen and sure enough, negative.

I texted him after he left for work and said, "I still think I'm pregnant".

- - - - - - - - - -

I patiently waited through Sunday and Monday before deciding to test again. It was now two days before my expected period (roughly - I hadn't even had a full cycle since getting my birth control removed, I had no idea how long my cycles would be!) Stephen said to me first thing on Tuesday morning, "Pee on a stick!" I tried convincing him I wasn't pregnant. I claimed I was 100% sure of it. There was no way it would really happen at our first try! I think I was so scared I was wrong and that it would be negative, I didn't want to even take the test. I didn't want to deal with the disappointment. Even though I really wanted to take the test...!

I turned it upside down while I got myself cleaned up, because I promised Stephen we could look at it together, but I have no self control, so I took a peek at it as I handed it to Stephen on the bed and said, "Told you, it's negative" It certainly looked like it! He took it and looked at it quietly for a second before saying, "No it's not. It's positive! There's a faint line there! It's positive!" I snatched it out of his hand and tried my turn at staring at it - maybe. But no. "That's negative" We passed it back and forth, Stephen convinced there was a faint line, me trying not to get my hopes up. On my second turn with the stick I held it to the light and just started to nervous giggle. "Are you serious?!" I believe my next words were swear words as I threw it on the bed and starting crying, covering my face and burying it into Stephen. "Are you sure?!" We kept staring at that faint vertical line getting darker and darker. "Oh my gosh! We're going to have four kids!" We were both laughing through watery eyes. "Is this really happening?!"

We sat there in our bed for the next 20 minutes laughing, crying, staring at the stick and each other... Even though I felt pregnant, I just couldn't believe it. Honestly, I'm typing this 3 days later and I still can't believe it!

Four kids. Four kids! FOUR kids! Are we crazy?! Maybe. But oh we are so happy and excited!

Baby Wall, you have been talked about for years! And now you're on your way! I just can't believe it... Our baby! You have been prayed for and prayed over. You are wanted and you are loved!

To read the story of how we found out about Uriah, click here. For Ezra, click here. And for Judah, click here. 

becoming big

I spent my entire pregnancy trying to picture the next stage of our lives - having three kids, moving for fellowship... due to our lack of knowing Judah's gender and the (still!) waiting game of matching for fellowship, I couldn't get very far with my imagination ;) From the very beginning, though, I could picture introducing Uriah to his new little sibling. He wanted a brother and had been guessing 'boy' from day one (and was even more set in his opinion when he saw Judah on ultrasound - he clearly had a "boy's hand") but said to me once, as he thoughtfully watched Ezra play across the room with loving eyes, "I think I would also like to have another little sister." So I knew, either way, this kid was going to fall just as in love as we planned to and I just couldn't wait...!

Older now than he was when Ezra was born he understood what was happening so much better. I knew he would transition well, offer me so much grace and be the biggest helper. He was able to express his excitement (and concerns! - "What if Ezra hits the baby?!" "How long until the baby can crawl and it starts wrecking all my things?") and as my due date became closer he would squeal with joy and tear up at the knowledge that he'd get to meet the baby soon. He was so ready to be a "big, big brother!" And I couldn't wait to make him one! 

Ezra, I knew, didn't quite know what was coming. She understood better than Uriah had when I was pregnant with her, but still... I knew there would be more of a transition period with her and while I was thrilled to be making her a big sister, I wasn't sure what it was going to look like. She's our baby girl and it was bound to rock her world a little bit. She expressed excitement all throughout my pregnancy and was guessing 'boy' by the end of it, but did she really know what was coming...? I figured her immediate reaction would mirror Uriah's and I was hoping it was her sweet and gentle side that came out and not her Iron Man/Ninja Turtle side... Not yet, at least ;) 

We had Facetimed the kids on Thursday night after Judah was born to tell them they had a brother ("I was right!" - They were both so excited!) and they came to the hospital with Nana and Papa to meet him the following morning, Uriah with a card for Judah - a picture of a castle/house with him, Ezra and Judah standing outside and the words, "I love you Judah" written across the top. I mean, come on...! It is currently hanging by his bedside, per his big brother's request. 

Uriah was equally worried about my bracelets and Band-Aids as he was excited to meet his baby brother - he's got the sweetest heart. He was quiet and calm and so tender and sweet. It melted my heart right into a puddle on the floor - I couldn't look at them without tearing up! Ezra was also very quiet, and true to my assumption, mirroring Uriah's reaction and excitement. They took several turns holding him and examining all his little features, Uriah so serious the whole time, always stopping to look up at me with his "I love you" eyes (as we call it!). Even though he seemed so reserved, you could tell he was happy! Ezra, though possibly a little confused by it all, proudly kept telling us, "I'm a big sister and a little sister!" Three weeks later and she's still proudly telling anyone who asks!
We traded him back and forth for awhile, answering all of Uriah's never ending questions, and I got in several snuggles with my bigs before I needed a nap and Stephen had to head to work. Uriah was hoping we'd be able to join Friday Pizza Movie Night, as it would be Judah's first one (!!) and neither of them liked saying goodbye to Judah or I.

I was so tired that day, I don't think it truly hit me until the kids woke up with us home on Saturday morning that I have three babies... We're a family of five... Oh and it gives me all the feels to think about it...!
And even though it's been three weeks now, it still surprises me to walk into a room with three little people in it. It takes us an hour to get ready to leave the house and we are habitually 30 minutes late every where we go, but man does it feel good to have Judah here and to be doing this life with this crew. Though we are still working out the kinks and maybe all doing a little big of adjusting still, the kids' love for their baby brother has not faded. And oh how mine has grown...!

Judah William - a birth story

When I was pregnant with Ezra, I wasn't sure how my heart was going to find room for her. I knew that it would, everyone tells you your heart grows and expands with each new child, but I just couldn't picture it - how? With Judah, my heart grew before he began to. My heart was open and ready and I waited 17 months to fill that new space.

Walking along the Oregon Coast in June, 2016, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I wasn't just ready to start talking about it or even to just start trying. I didn't feel ready at the possibility of being pregnant, I felt ready to have a baby. To hold a baby. My baby. To grow our family by one. Right then, my heart grew. It expanded just enough for Judah to live inside it next to his siblings. Only he wasn't there yet. I had to wait.

Three weeks later and he is still seeping into all the corners of that new space in my heart, expanding his stay and deepening his hold on my heart with every new sound, every gassy smile and every little grasp of my finger.

- - -

Somewhere around 36 weeks, we set an induction date. While I was hoping (and expecting) not to meet it, I was in pain, unbelievably uncomfortable, anxious, excited and incredibly impatient, so we made plans for a November 2nd delivery. At each passing week I became more and more discouraged at my lack of progress - I was only dilated to a 2 at 39 weeks whereas my other two would have been in my arms for several days. I was ready.

We called into labor and delivery at 7am on the 2nd to make sure they had a bed available for my scheduled 8am induction. I wasn't surprised to find the hospital full and my induction pushed back - "call back in two hours". While it never ceased to surprise me, once we hit noon and the hospital was still full, I became disappointed and felt defeated. Was this really not happening today? At 2pm I called back for the fourth time not expecting anything to have changed and preparing my heart for more bad news, when she told me they had a room available and I should come in. I think my actual response was, "what?!" It was obviously the statement I was hoping for but I wasn't prepared to hear it! This was really happening!? I broke out into a nervous laughter and admitted to Stephen, "I don't want to do this!" I had been so focused on my discomfort throughout this pregnancy, and all the unknowns, I didn't stop to think about the delivery much. But time was up and I actually had to have the baby...!

Living across the street from the hospital has its perks and we were there and checking in just a half hour later. Over the next two hours we got settled in and I got hooked up. We waited through one round of antibiotics before they started Pitocin and broke my water - everything was moving along swiftly and smoothly. I was only dilated to a 3 but having contractions about every 3 minutes, though they were almost painless. I overheard my nurse ask Stephen if I had a high pain tolerance (which I do not think I do!) because the monitor was suggesting active labor while I wasn't feeling anything quite so intense.

After an hour of laboring we called for the epidural. Truthfully, I wasn't in too much pain, but I knew, and my doctor kept telling me, that things would move pretty quickly once I reached go time and I didn't want to be unprepared - the sooner I had the epidural, the better. The anesthesiologist was great - kind and efficient - and the epidural itself went in well and worked like I was hoping, but my reaction to it was a bit dramatic. While I'm not a huge fan of needles, blood draws, IVs the like, I had made it through my prior two epidurals without a problem. This time, just as she was about to finish up, I started to feel light headed. I held the feeling at bay for as long as I could but it kept creeping up, getting more intense. I started to get hot and sweaty and knew if I didn't lay down soon I would get sick and pass out. I kept telling them, "I needed to lay down, I need to lay down". I couldn't open my eyes and everything felt so heavy - staying still and upright was so challenging in the moment. Stephen and our nurse, Sarah, worked at keeping me up and cool while I gave the anesthesiologist the go ahead to finish up. As soon as she was done I laid down on my side and waited for the feeling to subside. I felt so embarrassed that my reaction had been so dramatic - I have no idea why my body reacted that way - but I was happy that it was in and working and that I had made it through without falling off the bed...!

Shortly after the epidural was in, now about 6:00, I started to shiver and get really shaky. I felt nervous, almost. I remembered feeling that way during Ezra's labor and it was right as I dilated to a ten and was ready to push. There was no way...? I told Stephen, asking him if he remembered me feeling that way right before Ezra was born, and he and the nurse decided I should be checked right away. I felt no urge to push but I could tell something was happening in my body and it had me very aware. Surprisingly, I was only dilated to a 4, but as she was checking me, just one little push on my cervix and I dilated to a 5. She called my doctor back in knowing that I wasn't ready yet but thinking with that much progress from one touch, I would be soon.

My doctor decided to put a catheter in, giving the baby more room to move down, and at 7:00 I was dilated to an 8. The baby's heartrate kept dipping after each contraction, making my doctor and nurse assumed it was go time, but I kept assuring them that while I felt pressure, I felt no urge to push. My epidural was great in that I could feel the beginning, height and end of each contraction, and I could feel the pressure of the baby moving and pushing down, but without the intense pain. I felt like I was able to be apart of my labor - aware and engaged, focused and enjoying the process (as much as one can in that situation!)

I looked at the clock at 7:10 and jokingly said, "Well, 7:11 is out of the question! Baby's coming soon but not that soon!" Five minutes later, at 7:15, I felt it. The urge to push. It came on like a tidal wave, strong and intense. I had to push. My doctor helped me get into position and asked me to push with the next contraction. One push in and he was asking me to stop - the baby was right there and he wasn't ready! I had to hold my push through the next contraction and it was awful. The pain of holding that urge back was more intense than the contractions had been - I was ready, baby was ready and I had to push. Once my doctor had everything ready, and Stephen was gloved, I was able to push through the next contraction. Three pushes, one contraction and there he was. At 7:19 pm, delivered into his daddy's hands and placed on my chest... There he was! ...A boy! My Judah! He was here!

I had opened my eyes right as Stephen finished guiding him out and held him up, announcing "it's a boy!" with genuine joy and surprise in his voice. The relief I felt as he came out and was placed on me was overpowering. I had waited so long and was so ready and finally...he was here! We faced a couple scares during our pregnancy and faced a couple unknowns, his gender included!, and finally, all of that was becoming clear. The unknowns were known. There were no more surprises. It was over. And everything was okay... He was here. He was healthy. And he was a HE...! While I was elated and those moments were filled with palpable joy, it was also overwhelming for me and I spent the next several hours in a bit of shock, disbelieving that this was really my life - an unbelievably supportive and loving husband at my side, two sweet and eager babies at home awaiting news of their new little sibling and a new, beautiful, healthy baby boy on my chest... Thank you, Lord.

Throughout labor, as the reality and the nerves and the excitement set in, I kept reaching for Stephen's hand, sharing knowing looks of wonder, worry and joy with him. In those moments, as I gripped onto him hoping to grasp at some of his strength and optimism, I felt as though we were sharing silent prayers. Did you feel it too, Stephen? We were not the only ones in that delivery room. The Lord tested my physical strength, my patience and my allegiance to Him all through this pregnancy. But He did not leave me then and He did not leave me in those final hours. He was there with me. And once Judah had joined us earth side, all I kept thinking was "thank you, Lord, thank you, Lord, thank you, Lord!"

They kept him on my chest for at least an hour after he was born but time was lost to me. They cleaned him up best they could as he snuggled on my chest and then we just sat there, staring at each other, finally meeting and figuring out who each other was. Not knowing his gender during pregnancy was difficult for me and while I felt like I bonded to him right away, I feel like I'm still just getting to know him. Those first hours spent staring at him - his surprisingly blonde hair, alert blue eyes, crazy long toes and petite little mouth - it was surreal. I was finally holding my baby boy...!

He was 7 pounds, 12 ounces and 20 inches long. He was perfect. And I just couldn't believe it.

I kept crying, tearing up out of sheer joy and disbelief. "Oh my gosh! I can't believe it! He's here! It's a boy! He's a boy! It's over! This feels so good!" The relief continued to wash over me long after he was born - I had no control over my emotions and was riding such a high. I was just so happy to have him here, to no longer be pregnant. It was over. And everything was ok. He was here! And it felt so good.

We were transferred to our teeny tiny shared recovery room (what a concept!) after a couple hours and spent just 24 hours a the hospital, high tailing it out of there as soon as Judah passed his newborn screening tests Friday night. We Facetimed the kids shortly after he was born to tell them they had a brother, and they were able to come meet him the next day, but we were eager to get home and take advantage of Stephen's weekend off and snuggle up with all three (!!!) of our babies and start living this adventure.

I'm so grateful to have had a nurse I adored and a doctor I trusted and respected. I love that my dad was able to stay home with Uriah and Ezra and that my mom was able to be with us in the hospital capturing these moments - I am so grateful to have these pictures, mom. It has sort of miraculously worked out that my mom has been at all three of my deliveries though we've never lived in the same town. I am truly so grateful for those "coincidences" and I love that I have this day available to look back on as the years pass. Looking through them again and again since Judah's arrival and it makes me want to experience it all over again. Am I crazy?!
I'm unspeakably grateful for Stephen, who held my hand, fetched me water, rubbed my back, encouraged and comforted me, made me laugh, made me feel powerful and brought our baby earth side, where he continued to go above and beyond in taking care of me, Judah and our family. He's incredible, and it's not hard to miss. I love you, Stephen.
Most of all I'm grateful for my God. Who has had His hand on my Judah from day one. Thank you, Lord, for bringing my baby to me safely. Thank you for the trails we faced and the strength and trust it brought to our relationship. You are a good, good God.

He's here!