This pregnancy was such a trial of faith for me, and I grew so much (in every aspect!) in those 8 months. Not to mention I went through hell (maybe literally since we reached 118 this summer) to get him here! As i laid in my hospital bed, the chance of a future daughter to carry my name seemed to be slipping farther away, but this baby - he was mine. He was a product of my blood, sweat, tears, and unrelenting faith, and he was beautiful.
As the tugging started to get stronger, I knew the baby had to be close. I could feel the pressure and knew he must be close to the surface, but I hadn't heard any noise yet. I started to panic a little. Why didn't I hear crying? I looked up at the doctors to see if they were concerned, but they had their heads down and were working like a machine. Then it came: Tate's wonderful, beautiful little cry, announcing his arrival into the world. That cry is always the most emotional part. You hear your baby's little voice as he tells you hello for the very first time. "I'm okay mom! I'm here!" :-)
The doctors held him up above the curtain for me to see and tears flooded my eyes. He was a real baby! Still tiny, but just a miniature newborn, with a head of dark hair! I arched my neck and followed him over to the bed where they cleaned him up, checked his vitals, then finally swaddled him and put on his hat. A nurse brought him over for our first official introduction.
All I could do was stare. And smile. And cry. And stare. Then he was headed off the NICU. The last thing I was concious of was the doctors counting all their tools aloud (which kind of disturbed me a little). And then... I was out.
I awoke to little flashes of reality. The southern doctor was back and kept pushing on down hard on my stomach (ouch).
"Sorry baby, you're passing some pretty big clots. We need to stop the bleeding"
*back out*
This time an asian nurse that looked like Brenda Song (my sisters and all you Disney fans out there will know who I'm talking about!) was pushing down on me. She was also messing with my arm the IV was in, which was painful. So much for letting a wounded girl rest... haha. I looked over and saw Jared sitting in a chair next to me.
*back out*
I opened my eyes and saw Kirsten next to me this time. She had brought the diaper bag she'd finished packing for me. She said Emmett had been asking for me, and wanted to know if she should bring him back. I missed that little guy but was fighting the recovery wave and was not quite in condition yet. I could hardly stay lucid for more than 5 minutes. I looked down at my arm which I felt throbbing and saw it had been replaced with a giant, inhuman extremity.
"It looks a LOT better than it did", Kirsten said. "Your IV got infected."
Wonderful....
*back out*
Finally I was getting transported back to my room. By this time my family had arrived from Utah. They started driving as soon as they got word I was headed to surgery. Love them! I remember my Dad being there and telling me how good I'd done (funny, that was one of my first memories from last time too). And I remember Jared showing up with the one request I'd had when I was wheeled back to surgery. ("When I wake up I want a big snowcone from Bahama Mama's!") I could not have been more thrilled. I hadn't had a drink in forever (in prep for surgery) and that shaved raspberry ice tasted like heaven. Jared showed me pictures and video of Tate and told me he was doing well. I briefly said hello to the rest of my family and visited for a little bit before nodding off for the night.
*back out*
Next thing I knew my night nurse, a nice older german lady who introduced herself as Margarete. was waking me up. It was about 4 am. My anesthesia and pain meds had worn off and I was acutely aware of the slice across my abdomen. "I know it's going to hurt, but I have to get you up to walk around to keep the blood moving". I don't remember doing this last time, but my gosh was it PAINFUL! I felt my recently stitched incision with every breath and slow, small step. I was determined however to heal as quickly as possible, and not be stuck in the hospital another week like I was after Emmett. I laid down proud of myself and drifted off to sleep.
I continued to get stronger each day. I was fighting off a fever as well, which had resulted from my infected IV. I made frequent trips up to visit my little Taters, who was holding up like a champ. I only had to wait one day to hold him this time as opposed to a month! It was wonderful.
Luckily since it wasn't sick season, the NICU visiting policies we not as strict as Emmett's stay. My Dad, Caysen, and Kirsten had to be back for school/work so they had to leave the next day, and my Mom, Kendall, and Kaity got to stay a couple more. I was so glad they all were able to meet Tate before leaving.
By Wednesday August 14th, I was finally able to go home. Leaving the hospital with a baby in the NICU is always bittersweet. I'd been so antsy to leave and counting down the days, but I still started to tear up when we drove away. It doesn't feel right going home without your baby. You feel cruel leaving it alone, even though you don't have a choice. The mom guilt was already setting in and making me feel guilty that I was so anxious to go home and be with Emmett, yet I was leaving tiny little Tate alone.
Fortunately this time I was able to remind myself, it was a very temporary situation. It was only a matter of weeks (or so I thought at the time, but it ended up being days!) til Tate would be home with us. As I watched the hospital fade out of view in my rear view mirror, I was washed over by a wave of gratitude. Just as promised, it had all worked out. I was watched over. Tate was watched over. Emmett never spent a single second abandoned or alone (without family) , despite the fact that we live 10+ hours away from the nearest family member. I almost had to chuckle to myself. After spending nearly a year almost giving myself an ulcer, turns out Heavenly Father really DID have a plan. And I'm so glad I had the strength to follow it.
Cause it gave me tiny, perfect Tate.
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