Bundled up, we opened the back door to negative temperatures two Thursdays ago as we left for school. The kids were each holding our hands and as the door thrust open, there was no turning back. My body was tired and pregnant, but the school bell would ring in less than 25 minutes and going back to my warm bed wasn’t really an option at that point. As we drove across town to drop my son off, I told my husband that I felt like I viewed my upcoming labor and delivery like entering the cold of winter that morning. I was attempting to bundle myself beforehand so that I could push the door wide open and just go forth, ready or not.
I had spent the weeks prior reading labor stories, birth affirmations, and I was tired of thinking about scenarios and trying to use logic to pacify my heart. While logic and medical facts are wonderful, it wasn’t cutting it for me this time. I needed deliverance. My fear was at an all time high and I knew that pain was in my future.
Around 5:15 the following morning, I called my mom while in transition labor as I laid on my hands and knees in the bathroom, crying my heart out. I was scared. All I could muster the energy to think was “I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength”. If you know anything about my mom, you’ll know this is the verse that she lives by and that as children, all six of us have constantly been reminded of God’s ability to work within us if we believe.
Twenty four hours later, I wouldn’t have imagined that I would indeed be throwing open that same back door, bundled up with two children and my husband, and making our way to the Childbirth Unit. It was below freezing, but I only know that because I was told so after the fact. My body was writhing and there was no turning back, I was fully aware that I was no longer in control. A few harsh words made their way out of my mouth as I walked as fast as possible in between contractions to reach the third floor of the parking garage.
Delivery was fast. Faster than I had imagined. Eighteen minutes to be exact, from the moment we checked in until my second son was on my bare chest.
I had been delivered. (along with my son)
Delivered of the fear that I was incapable, that my body was not strong enough to withstand this process another time. I was delivered of the fear that had consumed my mind for weeks.
My precious cub was screaming at my breast, red in the face, and alive.
My deliverer was standing by.