My own birthdays don't really mean that much to me anymore. But the birthdays of my children - now, that's a different story. My husband started a tradition six years ago, on my son's first birthday - of giving ME a present on this occasion. He called it my "birthing day" present. I remember being a total mess on that day. I bawled and beamed all at the same time. And to this day, on the days my kids' birthdays, I can't help but be nostalgic.
You see, our son's birth was the most miraculous thing I'd ever experienced. It took 2 years to conceive him, ultimately succombing to fertility drugs. Each and every month was a waiting game until my doctor called with the news - FINALLY. The pregnancy was long, filled with scary events, hospital stays and worry. The day finally came, and I was SO ready. Our doctor came in to break my water, and it was dark green. I remember my husband's face. Of course, I couldn't see anything, so the expressions of my doctor and Adam told the story. Doc wheeled over to me, took my hand and said, "we have a problem here." And thus the day began.
Over twelve hours later, after failed nerve-damage causing epidural, I pushed our son into the world. He was blue, covered in bruises and not breathing. I was hemmorhaging. I didn't even get to hold him. They just cut the cord and ran. My husband ran after them, and I laid there just bleeding, with my nurse telling me to relax. It was over an hour before they stopped the bleeding, stitched me up and went for an update on our son. He was in an incubator, wires and tubes on him from head to toe. He'd aspirated meconium, had pnemonia and couldn't breathe on his own. But he was a good weight - almost 9 pounds - which would help him.
It was the next day before I saw him for the first time in that state. I reached into the incubator and stroked him. They said, "you can hold him for a few minutes if you'd like." I rocked him against my bare chest and cried. We spent 12 days in the NICU, but ultimately we went home with what he thought was a healthy baby boy.
It's been seven years today. He's turned into a fine young man. SOOOO smart, polite, calm and caring. He's the most loving child there is. His years have been filled with health issues - lots of hospital stays, medicine and specialists. But it hasn't changed his spirit. In fact, we think it's made him who he is. He sees the importance in the little things, and doesn't focus as much on the drama and inconviniences around him. He's content to just sleep in, have a waffle, cuddle and hang out. He doesn't complain that we can't go on trips and that he can't go places where germs could get the best of him. He loves life. He sees that being here is a gift.
He's certainly the best birthing day gift I could ever ask for. And I know that the years ahead are going to be very different than the last 7 - he's growing so fast, getting healthier and stronger and when I look at him now, I don't first see that struggling baby. I see a perfect little boy, who is the spitting image of his handsome father. And I also see God speaking to me.
That's what my birthing day means to me.
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