Thursday, July 15, 2010

Laboring in Love

There is something about laboring towards childbirth at home.

There is something about coming home and seeing the spaces, the bed, the bathtub, that particular spot on the floor, the blanket flung over the back of the chair, and all the places where you were in such intense pain that is haunting. Kristin said it best, it's like you come home to the ghosts - the ghosts of your laboring hours.

I never want to forget the midnight hours spent with Danny ushering our son into the world.

How Danny sprung into action so fast when I woke him up at 2:00 am on July 8th to tell him I was in labor that he fell off the exercise ball onto the floor.

How Danny brushed his teeth got dressed and then sat at the edge of the bed walking me through relaxation techniques and belly breathing while I groaned and squeezed his hand.

How EVERY time I opened my eyes Danny's brown eyes met mine and told me, both with and without words, that I COULD do this.

How Danny lit a candle and drew a warm bath for me when contractions were getting unbearable, and didn't complain when I sat in it through one contraction and said "That doesn't feel good," and promptly got out.

How Danny patiently and unceasingly squeezed my hips together to relieve some pressure while I labored on all fours on the floor.

How no matter what spot I moved to in the apartment Danny always brought the yoga mat and put it under my hands and knees so they wouldn't get worn out from the carpet.

How Danny continually changed the music, from peaceful rain, to roaring waves, to our relaxing playlist, to lullabies, to praise and worship.

How Danny sweated out the night and constantly changed the thermostat as I labored with chills (in a sweatshirt and pajama pants) and then a minute later was throwing everything off in a hot sweat.

How Danny never complained about his sleepless night, and yet I kept wondering how he wasn't falling asleep, as I was exhausted in between contractions and only the pain was keeping me from keeling over into bed.

How Danny played Cannon's song over and over again (Godspeed by the Dixie Chicks) and I prayed over and over again for God's speed and for Cannon's safe arrival.

How Danny always offered me food, afraid I wasn't getting enough nourishment to keep up my energy and then finally, finally made me eat one of those honey packets we'd snatched from Chick-fil-a.

How, when I wanted so badly to quit, so badly wanted to go to the hospital,  and begged him incessantly for an epidural that he looked at me and said, "Remember our goal. This is what we've practiced for. You didn't want an epidural remember? I KNOW you can do this."

I always want to remember laboring together in those early morning hours. How Danny never left my side and how only he and I will know what it was like to be in our apartment and then in that hospital room the morning that God caused Cannon to breathe life.

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