Dear Kemper,
I read somewhere that I should write down the story of your birth while it is still fresh in my mind, so that we can share it with you for years to come. I guess after a time all births become fuzzy in the minds of mothers whose brains (I am finding) are filled to the brim with all manner of to-do lists and concerns about their families and their work. Maybe I will keep this little blog up, or maybe I will forget about it until you are eighteen. Either way, writing is what I do so it seems a shame not to put it all into words.
Our story begins in the fall of 2013, exactly one week between your Dad and I's birthdays, when on a mutual hunch we decided it was time to take a test and lo and behold there were indeed two pink lines. Kemper, what can I say, our pregnancy was fantastic for the first seven months! I never had morning sickness or headaches. I slept and ate well for the first few months. We were healthy, you and I.
Then, around week 34 or 35 everything changed. Suddenly I became very uncomfortable at night. When I say uncomfortable I mean that I was having unbearable back and chest pain to the point of not sleeping at all, crying in frustration, and attempting any rest that I could get in a recliner. I wasn't eating well and I was living off of Tylenol. Our doctor and nurses seemed to think that this was muscle and ligament pain along with some indigestion and heartburn. We also discovered around this time that you had not yet turned and were in a transverse position with your head and butt under mommy's ribs. This was not pleasant for me but as your Dad said, "he's like me, he wants to do it his own way."
I struggled through another miserable week, we were almost to week 37, 3 weeks to go! Your Grandma Bel came (on her birthday) to take us to our doctor's appointment because I was feeling so poorly. Amazingly enough, you had turned that morning, unexpectedly. I believe that our bodies were preparing for you to enter the world one way or another! Thankfully, what transpired was the safest for us both. The doctor saw that I had a lot of protein in my urine however, and my blood pressure was very high so she sent us to the hospital for further testing. We never expected that you would share a birthday with your grandma , but indeed you do.
A very calm and reassuring doctor came into the triage room and explained to me that I had a very serious form of preeclampsia called HELLP syndrome. It is the breaking down of red blood cells, elevated enzymes in the liver and low platelet count. He informed me the only way to cure it was to deliver but because of the platelets and blood pressure regular delivery and even a normal c-section were out of the question. I have always joked that I wished labor wasn't painful and that I wished you could just be knocked out. I got my wish kid, and it was very scary. I asked the doctor when we would be doing this surgery where I was put to sleep in order to ensure our safety and he said, "we're doing it now." I called your Daddy at work and all I could choke out was, "you need to come to the hospital, we are having the baby today."
You weren't birthed from my body so much as extracted. I know that
sounds weird and all our other mommy friends will say, "any birth is
beautiful" and while that is true because you are here and you are
perfect, my personal experience does not feel that way because I do not
remember any of it. It is strange to have had a human moving inside of
your body for eight months and then suddenly that little human is a
breathing, squirming presence in the flesh! It was good that I never
created a birth plan and as it turns out we didn't need that birthing
class we skipped out on because we disliked the instructor!
I have some vague recollection of you being laid on my chest after you were cleaned up and I was waking up. How amazing that your Daddy got to come into the room and see you immediately as you were being checked out and passing your APGAR tests with flying colors. He took pictures of you still covered in goop and making your little old man face as you cried the first time, an expression which we have come to know so well. You weighed five pounds and three ounces and you were eighteen inches long. We are proud of that son, because you 'cooked' for three weeks longer than either one of your parents did and you outweighed both of us from our miracle births by at least 2 pounds. We are just a family of miracle babies, because you are indeed a miracle! You passed every test you had in the hospital, you were ready to come home before I was!
I was on a lot of medication for several days and it was hard for me to spend the time with you that I so desired. The day after you were born I remember little moments, like having you lay on the bed beside me so I could see you, I was to weak to hold you in my arms. But I could count each of your tiny fingers and toes and see your perfect little bow mouth and wide open eyes. I remember your daddy feeding you a bottle while my own daddy fed me jello. Something you need to know: your father was absolutely amazing those few days in the hospital. We were cramped in this tiny little ICU room that barely fit a bed and a recliner. Your dad slept in that chair by my side each night and made sure I had everything I needed. Each time you were brought from the nursery he held you, fed you, changed your diapers. He asked questions of the doctors and nurses to learn how they cared for you. He came home and watched videos on different ways to hold you, burp you, swaddle you. These are the things I was preparing for son, the things I thought I would be teaching him. Instead, I had a learning curve, I was four or five days behind and he taught me.
Tomorrow is June 13th, your ETA...today you are three weeks old. As I write this you are finally sleeping, you have been fussy this evening and your Dad and I have tried all manner of things to soothe you. In the last three weeks I have cried over silly things and apologized to you for being sick, for not being able to do things fast enough, for not breastfeeding or producing enough milk to meet your needs. I have cried because for all of my preparations and planning I feel like I have no clue what I am doing! I have desired above all else to fall into a routine and rhythm to successfully care for you. You run a tight ship Kemper, we are at your service! I have washed approximately ten loads of laundry filled with blankets and burp cloths. I have been peed on twice as many times. You have good aim which is a great matter of pride to your father. We have all been loved on and showered with well wishes from so many people; you are greatly loved, kid.
So, I don't have any stretch marks to wear proudly as battle scars of pregnancy; but I do have this lovely smile across my abdomen (which took me 2 weeks to look at in a mirror and many tears were shed as your father held my hand) to remind me of God's care for us to be in the right place at the right time. A reminder that we entrusted the right doctors and nurses to care for both of us when we needed it the most.
Above all, know that we absolutely adore you and we have from the moment we knew you were growing inside of me. Suddenly, you outshine every other accomplishment we have ever had. Suddenly, we have this other person to miss fiercely when we are away from you. And just like that we are parents. Parents who spent their wedding anniversary wishing they could sleep. Parents who realized that Father's Day is Sunday and that means buying "Grandpa" cards this year....oh and an extra one for your dad too. It is true that change can be bittersweet but everything is worth it because now we have you.
Love,
Mom
