I’m not sure why I feel inclined to write this. It is Grace’s tenth birthday and so I’m remembering her entrance into the world and all the circumstances around that but there’s more to it than just that. I guess I will tell her story and as I tell it the reason for it will unfold.

“You may not be able to get pregnant again.”

I knew that this was a possibility. I knew, after trying to conceive for 2 years, we may only have 1 child but hearing it spoken out loud brought such finality. I tucked that knowledge away along with the little slip of paper with names of  fertility drugs we could try, and left the office while my sweet husband held my hand. He said “We are ok, we are gonna be ok.”

Pregnancy has always seemed like a fickle thing to me. While I struggled and cried and pleaded with God for a baby, my sister was popping them out like pez. She and I have discussed this. Why does this happen? Why is it just easy for some people and heartbreakingly hard for others?

I decided to let it go. We were going to have 1 child and that was it. He was the delight of my heart and I didn’t want him to ever feel like he was not enough.

Then I found out I was pregnant. I didn’t even want to be excited. I had miscarried before and I was terrified of being disappointed but despite my fears my pregnancy was perfect. In fact every single woman in my family (except my mom) was pregnant that year. Even my best friend Joy was pregnant! 6 babies in one year! Amazing!

While I was in the beginning of my seventh month my sister in law, who was due around the same time as me, developed severe, life threatening preeclampsia. She delivered her little girl 12 weeks early. We almost lost both of them but we didn’t. They both fought and got stronger and went home. I was getting bigger by the day. I remember going to see this tiny little newborn who fought so hard to enter this world and I would lay her on top of my belly so she could “talk” to her cousin who was still cooking. They were about the same size but just on different sides of the womb.

As I sit here writing I remember feeling enveloped during that whole pregnancy like I was on a boat in the ocean, I just rode the waves.

At 35 weeks pregnant I went in for my first “every week” appointment with my midwife. I still had a whole month or so to go so it was just a routine check, nothing big. I checked in at the front desk and the receptionist told me that Sherry, my midwife was out on a delivery and they didn’t know when she was going to be back. Since it was just a routine visit I could just come in next week for my next visit.

“Wait.”

That’s what I heard.

“Wait.”

“I think I’ll just wait if that’s ok.” I said.

I felt pretty silly telling her I would just sit and wait. She looked at me funny and said “Ok, but I really don’t know how long it will be”

“That’s ok, I’ll just wait”

So, I waited. For 2 hours.

My midwife finally walked in and smiled and said “thanks for waiting!” and I went back to the little room for my regular appointment. They weighed me, measured me and did all the routine checks. I heard the whoosh whoosh of my babies heartbeat and then prepared to leave.

“You’re having a girl, right?” She asked

“Yes, I think so!” I said

“Let’s check just for fun just to make sure” she said

She took out the ultrasound thingy and plurped the cold gel on my belly and there she was on the screen, my little girl, all curled up and cozy.

My midwife lingered. Furrowed her brow. Asked me questions.

“Any cramping? Anything unusual?”

“No, I feel great!” I said, trying to swallow the fear that had started rising in the back of my throat.

“Let’s do a stress test just to make sure everything is just as it needs to be” she said.

I think at that point I would have done just about anything she asked me to do so they strapped me up to see if the baby was under any stress and then sent me down to radiology. They did another ultrasound. Nobody said a word.

I wanted my husband. He always holds my hand and my hands were cold and empty and shaking. He was home with our 3 year old just working and having a regular day. I hadn’t even gotten a chance to call him.

I was in a big room with curtains around my bed, waiting. They had checked my body and it was nowhere near ready to have a baby. It was closed and still hiding the tiny girl inside. I sat and listened to her heartbeat through the big machine. I don’t even remember praying. I just sat.

“You are having a baby today!” That’s what Sherry said when she pulled the curtain back.

“What! Are you kidding?! I’m a month away! I’m not even “doing” anything yet!”

She sat on the foot of my bed. ” We need to deliver this baby. Your fluid levels are very low. So, you’re having a baby today! You better call your husband”

I called him and before I even hung up with him he was there, holding my hand. He is always there. He will always hold my hand.

They were going to start a pitocin drip and get labor going. This is when I remember praying.

“God, please. No pitocin. Please.”

Before they came back to hook me up to the drip I had started to have contractions on my own.

3 hours later, completely on its own, my body birthed a perfect tiny little baby girl.

We named her Grace. Grace Caroline.

Sherry told me the next day that had I not waited for her and just come for my next appointment that there was a high probability the baby would have been stillborn.

Grace means “undeserved favor”.

Pregnancy is fickle but God is not. I don’t know why we have been given the gift of raising this little girl here on earth when so many of my friends have lost their sweet babies to miscarriages or stillbirths or the birth mother changed their minds.  I am no more “blessed” than they are. I don’t have any more “favor” than they do.

I am just me and you know what? This is not about me. This is about a girl named Grace and how she entered this great big beautiful world. When she doubts the mercy and the goodness of God she can remember her story.

“Remember Me”

I remember. I remember when Grace was born. I remember when it hurt and my sister looked at me and said “you can do this” and peace filled a room and a tiny baby cried and a daddy said.”Her name is Grace.”

I remember just as if the bread and wine were at my lips.

I write this in remembrance of a day of undeserved favor and of responsibility to all of my loved ones and friends who have lost and are waiting for a reunion. I will be her Mom and I will be a guide. I will teach her to remember. Today is a day of Grace.