The further we get away from the delivery room, the easier it is to question the perfection of those moments, in all their chaos.
Because just like the disciples that struggled to believe at times, with our Savior tangible before them, our faith is imperfect.
It's humbling to be confronted with that.
The first part of this story seems so rushed. I suppose it was.
That initial need to spill your story forth, before you process it...in order to process it.
Certainly though, the moments didn't feel rushed...at least not until the point when we saw that meconium, then more so when we saw baby's heart rate( and intermittent lack thereof) on the monitors.
The peace that surpasses all understanding.
Watching my very quiet baby's arm flop again and again to that table.
It was my out of body experience.
Between the epidural, which had me numb to my shoulders, and the oxygen being pumped in the mask, I felt barely present.
But I could see ( a limited view) of what was going on, and I had a vague recognition that it wasn't normal and it wasn't good.
The peaceful homebirth we had been envisioning, suddenly included an entire team of pediatrics staff, forget everyone else already in the room.
YET...yet,there wasn't the disabling fear that I know comes, have experienced come, in a moment when you see your child slipping from here to there.
I had been there before.
When the Mister and I were preparing and discussing for this birth, the significance of two cups of blood came up.
Two cups of blood after birth should cause alarm. More blood loss than that can kill.
I mentioned that maybe we should use some food coloring and water, give us an idea of what that volume looks like on an absorbent pad.
The Mister said that he already had a very good idea of three cups of blood, and I assumed that this was from his medical training.
No, it turns out....after Miss Fi was hurt, the doctor estimated that there was three cups of blood just on Mister SoulFull.
After walking though the miracle of that night for the last 3 years.... I forgot how close we were. Like it was just a story, and maybe it really wasn't as bad as I had felt it was at the time.
Because even though I was incredibly aware of God's presence, even though I knew he had a plan....I was crying out to him because if the plan had included losing my girl, I was telling God he was going to have to hold me upright....because I knew he had this, but I certainly didn't.
I could trust in the magnificence of his plan, and still be mortally terrified of what it would mean to live through it.
My heart is so grieved...so genuinely grieved, thinking of the mothers, the people, who have had to experience these kinds of things without the blessed assurance of the perfect plans of God.
It takes my breath away.
.......and look at that, I am turning this into quite the saga.....
but I need to put it down, because even more than my need to process what happened, I need to let people know the details, the embarrassing bits and the parts that sound melodramatic, because I just cannot wrap my head around God's goodness.
I can't stand to think that My God was busy being so amazing and faithful, and that there might still have been people in that room that didn't believe.I've seen how the medical establishment tries to explain things away, but then I also realize that no one else in that room, save the Mister, understood the whole road that led to those moments.
At first, I worried that it may have sounded like I was taking the Lord's name in vain.
But I realized that by the end of their interaction with us, that whole staff must have known the difference.
When I give birth, I commune with God. It's the most intense prayer because I need him so desperately.
But this time.....this time it turned from being about my absolute desperate need, and it turned into absolute, desperate gratitude.