Yesterday, the baby failed her test. She's not ready to be delivered. I'd so hoped to hold her and feel her warm body today and touch her soft pink cheeks and count her toes. I wanted to hear her cry and watch the rise and fall of her little chest with breath. But her lungs aren't ready. So even if she came she'd struggle to breathe. I don't want that. I know. I'm so scared of missing something, of messing up and losing her because of it. The longer she's in the stronger she should be is true.... or the longer she's in where we can't see her or help her the more could go wrong. Good things do not always come to those who wait. Gabbie never came to us and we waited for her. And patience is a virtue but the early bird catches the worm.... that's right, in most instances patience is something coveted, desired, but if you could Carle Diem wouldn't you?
I wanted, want still, to hold my baby today more than anything in the world. I wanted to know for certain I was bringing her home. I cried all afternoon yesterday for disappointment, until my eyes were big and puffy and were so tired I fell instantly into a dark sleep once my head touched the pillow. I woke up with tears in them still and puffy eyelids, and even now, as I blog, I cry. I have never had such prolonged anxiety, and real salty fear. It is not about patience, it is about strength and stamina. Everyone who truly knows me knows that the length and encompassing nature of my patience is almost inhuman. Given normal naive circumstances, I could wait, and in fact can wait even now. But given circumstances as they stand, waiting requires strength of heart and faith, in the universe, in myself. This is not a lesson in patience. This is a schooling.... how much strength and courage does it take to have a baby after you carried the last one to term, her heart stopped in utero, she never took a breath, and you held her, a perfect but silent 7 lb 15 oz tiny person? How much faith in oneself can be found after the person had a loss like that and "it was no one's fault but happened inside of her"? I am not naive anymore. I know I have too much fluid. I know she still has room to move. I know there are cord accidents and other causes of death, some that cannot ever be explained. I know that there are babies that are born at 37 weeks and do just fine. I also know that she's not ready. This is not patience. This is fear of unknown. Fear of what could happen literally inside me with me having zero control. This is not fight or flight mode, there is no way to run. This is the kind of fear that hurts your knees while you pray like hell, has you counting kicks even in your sleep, knowing your heart will not beat normal again until after you've read the last page of this book, your breath will catch with anxiety maybe forever, has you holding on as tight as you can to the man who won't leave your side and swears that with this you can do no wrong but who is just as invested in the outcome as you, has you hugging your kids closer because you know how lucky you are to have them, has you crying in the shower because the hot water will mask some of the tears, has you taking advice from your four year old: "you have to be big and strong mama, want me to show you how to be brave? Close your eyes hold your breath, count to ten, and let it out... now see don't you feel braver?"
So that is what I'm doing today.... being braver with my 4 year old: holding my breath, counting kicks to ten, and letting it out.
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