My Son's Birth Story

My son is now seven weeks old. I can’t believe how fast the time is going by. I’ve been working on his birth story the last few weeks, and today I can finally share it with you.

Sunday, March 31, the night before he arrived, I was sitting on the couch watching TV. Charles was at work, so I texted him a few photos of my belly—which was moving in ways it never had before. We texted back and forth about how it looked like the baby was really leaning to one side. At 9 p.m., he texted me:

“What do you think that is?”

I replied, “I’m not sure. Maybe a contraction of my uterus? It’s been happening all night.”

I finished this blog post a little after that and then texted Charles again: “Is this early labor?”

We weren’t sure. I wasn’t in any pain, so I didn’t know what to think. I ended up going to bed and slept for about an hour. When I woke up around midnight, I felt serious cramping, and it was painful. The best way I can describe it was like strong period cramps—not unbearable, but certainly noticeable. I sent Charles another message, telling him I thought this was it. Like we learned in our birthing class, he encouraged me to sleep. But I couldn’t. I stayed in bed, but the pain kept me up. I thought about eating a snack for energy, except I had no appetite and actually felt a bit sick.

Charles told me to call him the second I felt sure this was labor and I wanted him to come home. I held out because I still wasn’t convinced I was in labor yet, and I didn’t want him to drive home for a false alarm.

Time passed by quickly. Then around 3 a.m., I called Charles.

“You need to come home now. This is the real deal.”

He raced home and helped me get comfortable. He took a shower and ate, and he made sure our hospital bags were truly ready to go. I was still lying in bed, but even doing that hurt. Charles began timing my contractions in his notebook.

Around this time, Charles suggested we sit on the couch together and watch The Office. (Another recommendation from our birth class for how husbands can help.)

Well, I couldn’t sit on the couch. I got down on all fours in front of the TV and took deep breaths, as the contractions came like waves. We barely made it through the familiar opening credits as I moaned loudly on the flour—too loud to hear Michael Scott say anything. Charles continued timing my contractions, and we kept checking the guide from our hospital. I still hadn’t hit the point at which they advised I go in.

I decided to get in the shower. The hot water was about the only thing that felt good during this time. Charles continued monitoring my contractions, but I often had to catch my breath and didn’t want to talk to tell him when I was having one. I kept snapping at him—how could he expect me to be chatty at a time like this? Just look at me and figure out when the contractions come!

After the hot water ran out, I got out of the shower. Again, I had to get down on all fours, this time on the bath mat. Charles massaged my back. He then called and left a message for the hospital’s nurse on call.

Time went by in a blur.

Around 7 a.m., I went to the bathroom and saw a gush of blood. Immediately Charles said it’s time to go to the hospital. We got in our car, and thank the Lord, the hospital is only a five-minute drive from where we live. We dealt with a little bit of rush-hour traffic and then struggled to find parking. Charles had the hospital map printed out, along with directions of where to go. He was in the zone, following signs and making sure he took me exactly where we needed to be. But of course, I was giving him a hard time. Sitting in this car makes the contractions feel worse. Just park already! (Sorry, dear.)

Charles told me that right as he parked, I gripped the seat and said, “Dear, Jesus.”

As you can tell, I was a lot of fun during this time.

We quickly walked into the hospital and rode the elevator to triage, stopping along the way as I had contractions and needed to catch my breath. I’m pretty sure a man rode in the elevator along with us. What a sight for him!

Around 7:30 a.m., I checked in at triage, and a nurse immediately brought me into a room to examine me. We told her how the night had progressed, and then she told me I was dilated to 6 centimeters.

What?!

I was in full active labor and almost to the transition stage. I had figured I’d be in the hospital with an epidural way before this point. In fact, during pregnancy I feared that I would get to the hospital in pain, and the nurses would tell me to go home until I was further along.

This is my first baby; I simply had no idea what the pain level would really feel like. I was following along with the guide we received at our birthing class. While I might have gone to the hospital earlier had I known, I am super thankful my birth story turned out this way.

My doctor came into the room—a total God thing she was at the hospital and available!—and said, “I’m sticking around until this baby comes. You’re going to deliver your son today!”

I felt so excited and ready to go. Charles, a nurse, and I walked down the hall, again stopping with each contraction, and I went into a room where a team of anesthesiologists promptly met me.

The lead doctor thoroughly explained all of my pain management options to me. I told her I’d like an epidural, so I signed the paperwork and was hooked up to an IV. I remember having to sit up straight on the edge of the bed, staying as still as I could, as my nurse helped steady me and the team of, I think, four administered the epidural. I never saw what they did because it all happened quickly and in my back out of sight. I found the whole procedure to be very smooth and fast.

Afterward, the anesthesiologist checked my legs and my numbness, as well as my pain level. I had an additional button for pain medicine that would come through my IV and that I could administer myself up to every 10 minutes.

The relief of the epidural was almost instant. And let me tell you: I felt like a new woman. I was relaxed, at ease, and even more excited. I was able to hold a conversation again, and despite only sleeping 1 hour that night, I was energized.

My doctor came in to see me around 8 a.m. (yes, this all happened very fast!), and she told me I was dilated to 8 centimeters. The transition phase. Labor was progressing quickly, and now we’d just wait until the time came to push.

Charles and I talked, and we both tried to rest. He was running on zero sleep whatsoever, poor guy. At this point, we took out the Scripture cards that I had packed and read through them. I focused especially on this one:

“Haven’t I commanded you: be strong and courageous? Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”

— Joshua 1:9

Charles ate a few of the snacks we brought, while I enjoyed the provided apple juice, popsicles, and plenty of ice water. That’s all I was allowed to eat, and I figured doing so would help me gain some energy, especially because I hadn’t eaten anything in about 12 hours.

Unfortunately, I think the popsicles and my chugging water came back to get me. Over the next two hours or so, I ended up vomiting three times—once quite violently where Charles had to hold onto me. It was uncomfortable and frustrating, but thankfully each incident started and ended very quickly. If you know me, you know I’ve had an irrational fear of throwing up for a few years now. I get overly nervous when I hear anyone I know has a stomach bug. During pregnancy, I would cry when I felt like throwing up and also when I did, and I’d been extremely fearful of labor for the past few months simply because of the potential I’d vomit.

God really showed up for me during labor, and He gave me the strength to push through the vomiting. My nurse and doctor were not thrown off by what happened. They actually told me my throwing up helped move the baby farther down, and it was my body’s way of getting everything out of me so it could focus solely on delivery. Since this has happened I feel much more relaxed about throwing up now. While I don’t like it, I wouldn’t say it’s an irrational fear anymore. I could write a whole post on this and how it’s rooted in my desire for control, but I’ll save that for another day. If this sounds like you, though, please reach out to me! I know at least six women who share (or used to share) this same fear.

Between the vomiting and a heavy dose of acid reflux, I was feeling pretty uncomfortable. Both of those symptoms bothered me more than any pain. My nurse put medicine in my IV to help treat both, and after that, I felt significantly better.

At 1 p.m., it was time to push. Yay! Let’s do this, I thought.

I asked my doctor how long the pushing phase usually lasts. She said it could take 30 minutes or 3 hours, but she doubted I’d push for too long given how quickly everything else had progressed.

I did, in fact, push for 3 hours. And it was my favorite part of delivery. I wasn’t in pain; the best way I can describe pushing was that I felt pressure. I knew our son would be arriving any minute, and I was beyond ready to meet him. The more I pushed, the sooner labor would be over, and Charles would be in my arms.

Some time during those three hours, more nurses came into the room, which made us worry something was wrong. Everything was okay, though, and I just kept focusing on what my doctor and nurse told me to do. They gave me an oxygen mask to wear between contractions, and that really helped me catch my breath and regain my strength for each push. I felt like I was at the end of a marathon, pushing toward a personal record. This was the moment!

At 3:57 p.m., my doctor told me to stop pushing, and suddenly our baby was here! She immediately brought Charles up to me and put him on my chest, where he was quickly cleaned off and began to nurse. I’d never felt emotion like that before. I cried uncontrollably—the most natural happy tears—as my husband and I snuggled this precious little one. After nine long months, here he was in our arms. We spent the next hour just the three of us in that room. Our golden hour to bond without any interruption. It was the greatest moment of my life.

The love we feel for our son is unlike anything else. I really can’t describe it. Becoming parents has been the greatest joy of our lives. Motherhood is overwhelming, exhausting, and hard. Yet even with sleep deprivation and raging hormones, I am so full of love and joy. I’m learning sacrifice and selflessness; I now see a small snippet of the way the Father loves us.

There was a time where I didn’t know if I’d become a mother. I didn’t know if I’d get married, and I didn’t know if I’d be able to conceive given my health history. Through this pregnancy and now motherhood, The Lord has shown me that when it seems there is no way, He makes a way. He knows what is best, and He is always working for our good and His glory. He loves us unconditionally, and He delights to give us the kingdom.

Thank you, thank you, thank you Father.

My whole heart.

Expectant

Expectant.

This word has been ringing in my ears. I think it’s from the Holy Spirit. As I wait to deliver our baby boy, I am expectant. I expect God will show up. He will be in every detail. He will orchestrate labor in his precise, perfect plan. I expect my birth plan will only go so far because God’s plan is better. He is purposeful and intentional.

He is my rock and my salvation. He is a good, good Father. Provider. Protector. I expect He will cover us in peace and joy. I expect that in my weakness, He will be made strong. I expect my worries and fears will all be for naught because He is in control.

I wrote the above in my journal and then I looked up “expectant,” “expecting,” “expectation” in Strong’s Exhaustive Concordance of the Bible. (This concordance indexes every word of the King James Version of the Bible, like a dictionary but even better. It’s an amazing study resource and I cannot recommend it highly enough.) Upon looking up these words, I was pointed to Jeremiah 29:11, a verse I’ve always loved but never read in the KJV:

“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.”

An expected end. I love how this translation is phrased. God knows how our stories play out, and He’s been planning them from the beginning. He gives us hope and a future. He desires our well-being and to give us the kingdom.

I continued looking at the concordance and landed on Psalm 62:5:

“My soul, wait thou only upon God; for my expectation is from him. He only is my rock and my salvation: he is my defence; I shall not be moved. In God is my salvation and my glory: the rock of my strength, and my refuge, is in God. Trust in him at all times; ye people, pour out your heart before him: God is a refuge for us. Selah.”

God is my rock and salvation. That’s exactly what I had written in my journal before referencing the concordance. God knew what I needed to read, and He gave me the exact word and passage. He is my foundation; I will never face a situation without Him. He is the great I Am.

Expectant.

Charles and I are expectant parents. At 39 weeks 4 days, we are expecting to meet our sweet son any day now. Expecting above all, God’s grace in every moment of our anticipation and beyond.

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If you want to talk more about Jesus Christ and faith and what-the-heck-is-all-this-stuff, shoot me a message. I love meeting new people, whether virtually or in person, and gabbing about life. 

And if you'd like to know more of my story, you can read my testimony here.

Truly, He makes beautiful things.

Called and Qualified

Today I am 37 weeks pregnant. Baby boy is about six pounds, the size of a honeydew melon, and it’s virtually impossible for me to think about anything other than him. I am working full-time, but whenever I have a free second, I am thinking about him. What will he look like? What will he smell like? How will he sleep? Will he be blonde or brunette (or have no hair at all)? What kind of boy will he grow into? What kind of mom and dad will we be?

I’m not afraid of being a mom—I’m beyond excited and know God has been preparing me for this for months. But the whole birthing process is still quite scary and overwhelming for me. I wrote early this year about my fear and how I experienced an anxiety attack around Christmas time. I truly think that panic was God's way of waking me up to challenge this fear.

A couple days ago, I said to my husband that I've been fearful my whole life. As long as I can remember, even as a child, I've had fear. Fear of giving a presentation at school, fear of the big test, fear of roller coasters, fear of sleepover parties, fear of being left out during a slow song at the school dance. And eventually fear of not being perfect and not measuring up to my own unreasonable standards, which contributed to my struggle with anorexia.

The fear has been with me. I know I must have had moments during my childhood where I confidently pursued my dreams and didn't think twice about doing so. A childlike faith, courage, and innocence. I don't believe we are born feeling fearful, but I can't pinpoint a time when fear first crept into my life. It doesn't make sense. My family always loved me and encouraged me. Life was good. So why did fear still overwhelm me? Why was fear this continual thread in my life?

The day after I shared this with my husband, I thought, Well, wait a minute. I've also done a bunch of things in my life that I was initially afraid to do.

In the eighth grade, I tried out for my school’s play for the first time, and I ended up being cast as Dorothy in our production of The Wizard of Oz. Terrifying yet so fun.

I took a trip abroad with my Spanish class the summer before my senior year of college. I cried in the car on the way to the airport because I was already homesick, but 10 days later, I was having so much fun that didn't want to come home.

I decided to go to college six hours away from my family, at a school where I knew no one.

And then I recognized when I needed help, needed to leave college, and needed to get treatment for my eating disorder. One of the most difficult things I've ever had to do.

Post-college, I moved to a Pennsylvania town of 10,000 for a magazine internship. It was there God gave me a newfound interest for his Word and Biblical community, plus a friend who to this day is like family to me.

I moved to New York City to pursue a career in journalism and ultimately pursued a relationship with Jesus. In 2015, I was baptized and shared my testimony as an adult with my church.

Sensing a new call on my life from God, I relocated to Nashville for the man I love and a job in full-time ministry—even though I had only been to Nashville once before and never worked in ministry.

And I started this blog, sharing my story and trusting that’s what God wants me to do.

I thought of all these experiences, and I saw God's faithfulness. Anytime I felt afraid and unsure, God was there for me.

I also remembered the countless men and women throughout the Bible who God used when they felt inadequate. He turned to people who seemed totally unqualified by cultural standards: Moses, Joseph, Daniel, Mary, the bleeding woman, Matthew, Peter. I read a quote somewhere about these men and women of the Bible that rang so true for me: God doesn't call the qualified; He qualifies the called.

“Then Moses said to the LORD, “O my Lord, I am not eloquent, neither before nor since You have spoken to Your servant; but I am slow of speech and slow of tongue.””

— Exodus 4:10

“But he said, “O my Lord, please send by the hand of whomever else You may send.””

— Exodus 4:13

Moses repeatedly told the Lord to choose someone else to lead the Israelites to the Promised Land, and God kept reminding Moses that he was made for the journey.

Then we have Joseph—a young man sold into slavery by his brothers. He is wrongfully put in prison but eventually becomes ruler of Egypt—and his line of descendants leads to our Messiah, Jesus. Joseph is an unlikely hero. He looked completely unfit to rule Egypt or bring glory to God, but that’s exactly what he did. God qualified him. God didn’t care about how he looked socially or culturally; He cared about Joseph’s heart.

Stories of redemption like this are scattered all over the Bible.

Perhaps the most well-known is that of Mary, the 15-year-old girl chosen by the Father to be Jesus’ mother. She has a choice in the matter, and she boldly steps forward in obedience. Look at what happens in Luke 1 when the angel of the Lord visits her:

“The angel went to her and said, “Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.”

Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. But the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over Jacob’s descendants forever; his kingdom will never end.”

“How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?”

The angel answered, “The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God. Even Elizabeth your relative is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be unable to conceive is in her sixth month. For no word from God will ever fail.”

“I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May your word to me be fulfilled.” Then the angel left her.”

Mary is greatly troubled. Can you imagine what she felt learning this news? This was not 2019; this was a time when Mary could have been disowned for a child born outside of marriage. Not to mention, she’s only 15 years old. Yet she steps forward in faith. She trusts God, and she doesn’t let fear hold her back.

One of my favorite biblical stories is that of Shadrach, Meschach, and Abednego in the book of Daniel. These boys refuse to worship the king of Babylon, and in doing so, are sent to the fiery furnace to burn alive. Daniel 6 describes how the furnace is so hot that the soldiers who brought these boys to it immediately die. Except the boys don’t die when thrown into the fire. They walk around in the fire with God at their side.

““Look! I see four men, not tied, walking around in the fire unharmed; and the fourth looks like a son of the gods.””

— Daniel 3:25b

They risked their lives in order to serve God, and they are delivered from the fire. What stands out the most to me in this story is how God not only rescues them, but He walks with them through the trial. This is truth that I need to cling to. I need to remember this on a daily basis. God walks with us through fear, anxiety, pain, and suffering. He is still good, no matter what we are feeling or experiencing.

So does birth scare me? Yes.

Will it be worth it? A million times yes.

This is God’s plan for me, and He will be there with me through every second of labor and delivery. He’s called me, and He will qualify me.

I'll get to meet my son. I'll have the gift of becoming a momma, something I don't ever want to take for granted. I picture holding him on my chest moments after he takes his first breath in this world. His dad and I snuggling him with overwhelming thanksgiving for this good and perfect gift.