NavigatingLifeWithLMS

For the superstitious, Friday the 13th is viewed as a day of bad luck. However, in my case, not so much. Friday the 13th of July 2012 was the best day of my life! After four miscarriages and months of pregnancy torture, I finally got to meet the little guy I had been growing.

By the end of my pregnancy, I was DONE. The heartburn was unreal, it was hot, and my little man was stretching my insides from every angle. I was getting restless.

I was cut off work before I wanted to be. It turns out having contractions every time I went up or down the stairs is a no-no. The Executive Director at the assisted living facility I work for told me, half-jokingly, “we offer a lot of health services here, but delivering babies is not one of them.” She cut me off for my own good.

Out of work and feeling miserable, I opted for membrane sweeping-a procedure done to encourage natural labor. The process was not comfortable but very successful, in my case at least.

Around 5:30 AM, right after my sister pulled out of the driveway to leave for work, making her kids my responsibility, my water broke. As my doctor was boarding an airplane out of town, I was camped out on the toilet with water continuously leaking out of me. I had to figure out a way to wake up my partner and tell him we need to get to the hospital. After a couple of minutes I gained enough courage to get up, water still leaking and all, to tell him it was time.

Knowing these things usually take time, I wasn’t in too much of a hurry. I ate breakfast, knowing they wouldn’t let me eat. I took a shower because, well, you know, there were about to be a lot of people rooting around in my lady business. I did my hair and got my nephews ready to go, then dropped them off at Grandma’s house.

We made it to the hospital, got admitted and into the room where our lives would soon drastically change. At this time I think it was somewhere close to 8:00 AM.

Before climbing into the lovely bed (insert sarcastic voice), in hopes of getting comfortable, I decided to pee. At that moment, my minor little constructions turned into one ginormous no-stop contraction. Needless to say, I asked for an epidural.

As my partner was rubbing my back in hopes to help me through the situation he helped me get into, the anesthesiologist arrived. He had to assure my partner that he would in fact NOT die, despite the threat I made against his life if he stopped rubbing my back.

The epidural allowed for me to get some much-needed rest. That was until I started throwing up. I was finally checked and dilated to 10. It was just about time to start pushing.

The race was on for my sister to get to the hospital and witness our little miracle enter this world. She had a heck of a time getting out of work and stopping at home to get a couple of things we had forgotten. Just barely before it was time to start pushing, she came walking through the door.

Now we were set and ready; it was time. Only, I couldn’t feel a thing. I couldn’t even feel pressure or tightness from contractions. The nurse had to rest her had on my belly and told me when to push.

After a little while, our little bundle’s heart rate wasn’t cooperating, showing signs he was getting stressed. Needless to say, I now had the anesthesiologist waiting in the back of the room in standby for emergency C-section. The rest of the labor process became a little more awkward. Labor and delivery now seemed more like an oddly thrown together party, and I was the entertainment.

After a brief argument with the on-call Doctor about an episiotomy (that is when they purposely slice your lady-bits to keep it from tearing), at 3:15 PM my first born had arrived. Jace David Walter Dykes was 6 pounds, 14 ounces, and 19 inches long. His pediatrician deemed him “perfect.”

The rest of the day was consumed with new baby snuggles, diaper changes, feedings, and desperately trying to get my new parenting act together.

Less than 24 hours after Jace was born we headed home to begin the rest of this crazy roller-coaster ride we call parenting. I wouldn’t trade a second of it!

Jace- as the year’s tick by in what seems like the blink of an eye there are so many moments I wish I had done differently. There are things going on in your world I wish I could take away.

It is hard for me to accept that those “moments” have shaped you and made you who you are. Those “things” are not meant for me to take away. Instead, those “things” are meant for me to love you through.

You are so funny, smart, handsome, and all around lovable. I am beyond proud to be your mommy. The day you were born was indeed the happiest day of my entire life. Thank you for making me a mommy, and thank you for picking me to be your mommy! You, my handsome boy, are my rock.

Last night as we were snuggling into bed for the night, I tried to explain to you how much I love you. As I got to the part of apologizing for every moment I did wrong and explained that I always have the best of intentions, you reached your little hand up to my lips and said “shh, Mommy, I know. I know you love me, and you always take good care of us.” All while you were gently stroking the side of my face and using a soft and gentle voice.

When I look at you, your brother and sister, I see perfection. There are many things in this life I feel I have messed up on, but you three are, without a doubt, the ones I know I got right. I can’t imagine my life without you.

This Frances England song makes me think of Jace every time I hear it.

“How did you grown up so big over night? How did you get so smart and bright? Yesterday you were asleep in my arms. Today you’re growing off the charts. I’m so proud of you.”

This year, on Friday the 13th of July 2018 we celebrate our miracle turning six years old. Happy Birthday, Jace. We love you so much, handsome boy!

DON’T FORGET!

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