Mary Christmas!

The pain started around 3 o’clock on Christmas Day. At first it was just a few regular contractions tightening painlessly across my stomach. But in minutes the tightening became achiness and then gradually cramps until eventually even the allure or Turkey and apple pie to a very hungry stomach couldn’t keep me up. I guzzled a few glasses of water and went to lie down. After 30 minutes I started watching the clock. After an hour Bryan started loading the car.

Even though I already couldn’t talk through contractions on the drive to the hospital, I still wasn’t convinced we were in actual labor. Our baby was due January 20^th, and this was Christmas Day. Surely, just a few days of running just a little too hard were catching up with me. I was already preparing myself for the awkwardness of the “No, honey. Just go home and put your feet up…” speech from the nurse on call. What I got instead was the “Yup. You’re dilated to a five. I’ll go call your doctor…” speech to which I think I stupidly replied, “You mean this baby is coming today, for sure?” The nurse smiled and said, “This baby will be here in a couple hours.”

As you can imagine I experienced a dizzying blur of emotions in those moments. On one hand there was the incredible excitement of thinking how close I was to holding my baby in my arms, of meeting her for the first time and looking into her eyes. On the other hand there was the fear of her coming too early. What if she wasn’t ready for the world yet? What if something was wrong? I also felt a pang of guilt mixed with gratitude because for weeks I had talked about our daughter coming early. I was concerned about her showing up while we were still in North Africa and even back in Nairobi I had my doctor perform a couple unnecessary pelvic exams just to make sure she wasn’t showing any signs of coming while Bryan was still a thousand miles away. Now I was so thankful I had sensed this for so long. But I also worried, had my seemingly needless concerns prompted the very thing I feared?

As much as I missed my mother while the contractions gathered and grew, I have to admit, there was something incredibly intimate about being alone with Bryan as we labored to bring our baby into the world. I sank deeper into my own little world of hurt, bent over the bed, counting my breaths and moaning the almost comically inadequate word “ow” over and over again while Bryan led sips of water to my mouth, whispered encouragement in my ear and constantly, endlessly, faithfully rubbed my back. It was just the two of us together working side by side to usher into this world the life we had created.

Mary Katherine was born ay 8:35pm on Christmas Day at 5lbs and 14 ounces, 19 and ¾ inches long. From the first pang to the final push, my labor lasted just over five hours. Though she came out squealing, under the harsh glare of a heat lamp the pediatrician quickly decided that her weak grunts were not sufficient for breathing and carted her off to the NICU. Shaky and weak myself, I just got a glimpse of long bluish legs and big dark eyes before she was taken out of the room. Bryan got a closer look but didn’t get to hold her either.

The past forty-eight hours have felt like an eternity. In fact I still can’t believe I have only been a mother of two that briefly. Having both of my babies out of my arms and body leaves me feeling naked and alone. In all honesty, the sheer novelty of complete solitude was a bit of a luxury at first, but it didn’t take long for the ache in my heart to replace the aches in my body. I have been grateful for the culture of breast-feeding that I find myself in. The walk down empty corridors with blinking Christmas trees at 3am to go pump in a quiet nursery full of impossibly tiny babies attended by sleepy nurses is strangely comforting. I think I have been grateful for a physical outlet to express love for my little one when the only other thing I can do is sing lullabies through holes in an incubator while stroking her toes.

I was especially sad earlier this evening when Mary Kat’s breathing was still uneven and the latest test results on her infection still unavailable. I sat in my Easter-green hospital gown pumping with only partial success while a cheerful Kenyan woman chattered away to a bundle in a bassinet across from me. Eventually we struck up a conversation. I noticed her business shoes under the hospital robe and realized she must have come from home to nurse her baby. When I asked her about it I learned that her son was born several months early and has been in the NICU for almost two months. He was supposed to go home tomorrow but instead are going in for surgery to try and remove an accumulation of water on her baby’s brain. I asked her what her son’s name was as she said, “Gifton. But of course we just call him ‘Gift’.” I can’t imagine.

After supper and a bath tonight I got my own gift when I went back to the nursery to pump. A nurse was changing my Mary Katherine who for once was wide-awake and rooting with her IV bandaged fist. When I asked if I could please try nursing, expecting yet another, “Not yet” I was overjoyed to instead hear a “yes.” A chair was pulled up to her little incubator an IV stand, and swaddled and bleary-eyed, my beautiful daughter was placed in my arms for the first time. It was heaven.

My tiny daughter has a surprisingly strong suckle and we were soon working together perfectly. I never cease to be amazed at how much more than mere individuals we are, how even our biology seems to exist in community, in relationship. She created in my physical body what no machine could. Her tiny mouth pulled more milk from me than I knew existed and the thirst I had yet to feel after two full days of pumping soon had me guzzling water. She eventually fell sound asleep in my arms but only after a long time did I begrudgingly returned her to the nurse and her little pretend-womb. Hopefully she is only hours away from being free to stay with me. Until then I am counting the hours until I can get back to her.

I better go to sleep now while I can. In just a few hours my alarm will go off for another walk down late-night hospital halls and after that is a day-full of conversations with doctors and visits from precocious almost-two year olds who still don’t know exactly what “big sister” means. I’m not even going to read back over this before I post it because I know I will probably trash it if I do. I just had to get something up in the moments I had. Thank you all so much for your prayers. This has bee one of the most amazing Christmases ever. We have been given such an amazing gift.

(And if you think about it tonight, say a little prayer for Gift who is in the nursery with my daughter and his mama too. I know she would appreciate it.)