All week, I've been thinking about last year at this time.
I was on bedrest. I had risk after risk and there was nothing to be done except nothing at all. Prayers for miracles. Hope. It was a scenario like:
"don't fall down or..."
"don't get bumped or..."
"don't overdo it or..."
And whatever you do, don't travel far from the hospital.
I've talked about this before-- It was the most significantly large sub-chorionic hemorrhage (aka. an enormous blood clot that can cause pre-term labor x% of the time) coupled with the severest form of placenta previa (aka. no chance of NOT having a c-section, and oh by the way-- if you go into labor on your own, you can bleed out). Pre-term labor risk + risk of bleeding out when going into labor = uhhh, very significant risk.
One year later, I have found myself feeling incredibly emotional about the whole thing. I take a look at my baby boy, scooting himself in circles while sitting, and beaming at me with pride in his accomplishments-- and my cheeks flush and my eyes get watery and I have to swallow a few times to hold back the tears. Geeeeez, I didn't used to be such the teary type!
I don't know if it was a sting of loss felt earlier in life, or if it was just that pregnancy hormones last year that had me in a glass-half-empty state (probably both), but my faith then that 2016 would include a healthy me AND a healthy baby boy was incredibly low. Prayers and faith do not mean that life is going to become a cake-walk with all things miraculously turning out how we hoped. I know firsthand that prayers and faith sometimes mean unparalleled peace and true comfort and strength in our most dire of moments, rather than an outcome of that which we truly hoped.
BUT this time. This time I got that miracle that even I didn't believe would come. Ten days after three expert doctors looked at the ultrasounds with the most complete placenta previa possible (head shaking, "oh this definitely isn't moving. we'll be scheduling a c-section for you soon-- also, try not to leave San Francisco, okay? And also, don't worry. I mean, there's nothing to be done, but just don't worry because worry can also affect things"), my ultrasound showed NO placenta previa. Like, not even somewhat close. Not even in any window of risk.
("wow, that's impossible. It's not possible that it moved that far. Not in 10 days, not at all, really. We must have {ALL?} read the last ultrasound wrong?" Moved that scanner over my stomach with everyone seeing the same results, but we all must have had hazy vision that day?)
So I'm emotional a bit these days. I will forever know Jack as my miracle baby. Beating all the odds and being healthy on top of it all. Having a scan at 5 weeks for potential spinal issues, and coming up clean & clear. Only gaining two ounces months 4-6 and cooperating to chub up month six. He keeps us on our toes / knees.
He's big on slobbery kisses all over my cheek and tiny hand grabs of clumps of my long hair. His eyes twinkle when he smiles, (like my brother's!). He gets really hyper and excited when he sees his daddy come home after work, and Brian taught him to roar like a lion. He has eaten so much table food, and hasn't refused a single thing. Books and blocks make him happy, and his cars that pull back then move across the floor on their own. He would rather be out and about, sunshine or rain, any time of the day...
We adore our Jack and are so thankful for his LIFE. Happy 7 months sweet baby!
xx