My baby is three months old! My little Snow angel. He’s happy, he’s healthy, he’s a dream baby and he’s a miracle. Every day I thank him for coming home to me. Every day I thank God again and again for letting me have my baby boy.
Sometimes I remember and get a glimpse of the fear that gripped me throughout my pregnancy. Sometimes it was out of control. I panicked. I froze. I couldn’t function. I had dark visions of things going terribly wrong.
After the loss of pregnancies 5, 6 and 7 I couldn’t bear to let myself hope. I watched and worried about every possible sign that something might be wrong. I wouldn’t let it catch me off guard. I couldn’t let my heart be broken again. I refused to connect with my baby. I was either ignoring him or panicking over his welfare.
I tortured myself to the point of causing cramping and bleeding many different times. I wouldn’t have seen the connection but a dear, life-saving friend who was kind enough to take my calls at those moments would talk me down from the ledge, remind me of my Savior’s love and help me give my fears and doubts and hopelessness over to him. And the bleeding would stop. So did the pain.
Things improved somewhat after the 16 week mark when I passed up pregnancy 5. And with the help of my earthly angels (you know who you are) I began to connect with my baby. I allowed myself to acknowledge and even fall in love with him. I asked him questions and got to know his sweet, genial personality. A few times I even dared to hope.
Late in my pregnancy, while I was reeling from a friend’s tragic loss, I received a priesthood blessing. During that blessing I had a sweet glimpse of my baby boy. He ran through our house, chasing his big brothers, trying to keep up. My heart knew it was true. He was coming home to me.
I will never forget the moment after he was born into the water. My husband passed him to me through my legs and I reached down to pull the biggest most perfect, slippery, beautiful baby out of the water and on to my chest. I didn’t ever want to let go. And I still don’t.
I still get a little nervous. I’ve slid back into being a slightly more paranoid, watchful mom than I’ve been in quite a few years. But the biggest difference isn’t that. The biggest change is that I don’t take one breath for granted. I don’t waste a moment that could be spent making my baby boy laugh or staring into his deep, knowing eyes. I’d rather hold him myself than share but his brothers all get their turns. I take advantage of my older helpers so I can drop what I’m doing and hold my boy when he needs me. Or wants me. Or when I want him. Everything else can wait. My baby is growing every day and I don’t want to miss a beat.