Sitting on my counter is a card that says, “Happy Momr’s Day.” And I would make a joke here, but I’d be sure to offend most of my Fremont friends and family, so I’ll pass, and instead focus on the correct phonetics.
And the joy.
Of being a Mom.
And receiving a card that says Momr.
And there are drawings on the card.
A tea bag. A Hershey’s bar. Two children. Two dogs. And the word Razorbacks.
He knows me well. Gotta say, I’m somewhat humbled that there’s nothing in there say, you know, about Jesus.
And it was.
8 years ago today.
Memorial Day. 2005
Unless you are an official from the Nighthawks baseball league, then for sure this all happened on May 1st, 2005.
Just randomly putting that out there.
My mid-wife (who, through infertility and later three pregnancies became my friend,) was scheduled to be on call Memorial Day Weekend. More than a week before my due date.
No-one goes early, they said.
It’s your first baby, they said.
Pie in the sky thinking, they said.
And I do love pie.
But for weeks and months even, I told everyone that we were going to deliver on Memorial Day.
And we did. Some 30 hours after my water broke.
In the driver’s seat of my husband’s car.
And I love that part of the story. 🙂
(Just to be clear, Coulter was not born in my husband’s car.)
And I love the part of the story where I chose to deliver without drugs and I love the part of the story where after 3 miserable hours of pushing (sorry Dad for the visual), Coulter was born. And I love the part of the story where I held him and fed him and sent my husband to find a diet coke.
A diet coke. In a can. That I hadn’t had in two years.
Do not judge me. I was really, really thirsty.
But then, they whisked him away.
A few hours later, a doctor who learned his beside manner—
Your son is sick. Well he might be sick. We don’t know. But by the time we do know, he could die.
And then he will be, you know—
I hadn’t slept in 48 hours. All the blood vessels in my face broke during labor so I looked like I had the measles and strangely enough—
I still looked pregnant.
And I’m not just saying that. On the long trek from our room (down the elevator, across a bridge type thing and basically into another building) to feed Coulter in the NICU, a women oooed and aaahhed over me. Oh! Looks like someone’s getting ready to have a baby.
And I wanted to hit her.
Had already had a baby.
I loved being pregnant (mostly). I loved looking pregnant (mostly). I loved that God chose this body, my body to knit together a miracle.
Oh, and I loved that my breast looked like they had been bought and paid for but now—
Now they are gone.
Wait. I’m not really kidding that they are gone…they are, sadly, gone— but that wasn’t really where I was going with the “but now”.
All I wanted was to hold my baby. And I wanted everyone and everything (including my still pregnant belly)—
But no-one was leaving. Nurses in and out and Doctor-Personality-of-a-Rock was in and out and before I could even speak or ask or breathe they had taken him again.
There were needles.
In his hands.
In his feet.
In his head.
There were MRI’s.
And a spinal tap.
And he’s not eating enough.
And he’s yellow.
And you can’t go home.
And their dad said “This isn’t about you (our family). It’s about us.”
So we sent our families away.
And when we came home.
We were alone.
And I knew. Day one of coming home as a family.
I knew. The breaking.
Piece by piece.
Coulter turns 8 this week.
He works hard, plays hard, tries hard.
And each day, the spirit of joy rises up in him and he is the gift.
The redemption of a life gone wrong.
WAIT! No! Not a life, a marriage.
A marriage gone wrong.
And His mercies are new every morning and those who reap in tears will sow in joy and in this short life, Coulter knows words like separated and divorced and parenting time and words that I never meant for him to understand but glories of glories, this is know:
Above all and in all and besides all, he knows that he is loved.
Yesterday Coulter was drinking cranapple juice in front of the t.v., and we all know that cranapple juice is not really juice, but my parents are in town so, there you go.
Cranapple juice in front of the t.v.
And he spilled.
And cranberries are red.
And I said, “Coulter! Dude! Please be more careful.”
He looked up, didn’t miss a beat and said.
“I know, Mom. But the good thing is at least the carpet will smell good.”
But the good thing is.
A heart full of joy.
Full of hope.
And the good thing is that there is always the good thing.
And when I forget, he is the reminder.
A walking, talking, running, tumbling, hold-able, hug-able reminder of the everlasting faithfulness of God.
#beautyfromashes #birthdayblessings #healthychildren #joy