January 21, 1992, I was rolled into the hospital from my doctor’s office (which was attached to the hospital). I was in danger of having preeclampsia, and that meant that it was time to have a baby.
As I sat in the wheelchair, I was filled with fear because I possessed an extreme dislike of hospitals and needles. I also knew that I was about to experience pain like no other. I had, after all, watched the birthing videos during my prenatal classes.
I begged the nurses to just knock me out and wake me when it was over.
I was hooked up to IVs, and bags of fluid dripped the hateful drugs that would induce labor contractions.
After several hours of nothing happening, the medical staff decided to give up for the day and get started bright and early the next morning. I would be spending the night in the hospital.
The Mr. went home, and I was left alone.
It was a very long night as I listened to the sounds of women giving birth in the surrounding rooms. They cried and often yelled out in pain.
The sounds of childbirth are not the most pleasant, you see, and, when you’re 21 years old, they are downright frightful.
I didn’t sleep much, needless to say, and I was grateful when the nurses came in at 5am to begin the inducement for the second time. It was as if the events from the day before were a trial run.
It was January 22.
After a long day, a little bit of crying (but no yelling), my little Chicky was born.
She was perfect and scored a nine on the Apgar scale the first time the nurses looked at her and a ten a few minutes later.
Her chunky cheeks showed off the care I had taken of myself during the pregnancy.
It is difficult to describe the flood of emotions that descended upon me when Chicky was placed into my arms the first time.
For nine months, I had cultivated a love for this unseen child. I had spent countless hours praying for her, especially during the month that I had been confined to bed rest.
As I looked down at her, snuggled in her newborn, hospital-issued blanket, I sighed with content. I could not believe that this little person had, minutes before, been inside my body.
The miracle of the moment flooded my soul with an unspeakable joy.
The realization that she was mine was humbling. I felt unworthy that God had chosen me to be her mother. And yet, I felt extremely blessed as well.
It is hard to believe that those events happened exactly 19 years ago.
I feel as if the umbilical cord has been cut again as this is the first birthday that Chicky will spend away from me. Had the distance been closer, I would have driven down to see her.
This is yet another big reminder that my Chicky is grown up.
In my mind, though, she’ll always be the blond-haired, blue-eyed little girl with a mischievous smile and a sparkle in her eyes…
Happy Birthday, Chicky!
You are a joy and a blessing, and I am honored to be your Mama. ♥
Filed under: children | Tagged: children, parenting | 6 Comments »
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