"I can't wait to pull him out," I told a friend who asked me what I was looked forward to with the upcoming birth of my son. I could easily picture it. Reaching down to grasp my baby’s slippery body then snuggling him onto my chest. Hello, sweet little one. I had already done this three times before when I met each of my daughters for the very first time.
But things didn’t go according to plan with my fourth. I ended up with a C-section due to a strait jacket style cord wrap that was constricting my son. Under the alien lights of the OR room and pumped up with anesthesia, I felt nauseous and out of touch with my body, the complete opposite of grounded and strong. A wall of blue separated me from the surgery, and all I could barely manage to do was breath in and breath out, hoping, praying.
When the surgeon finally pulled my son out from the incision, his healthy cry cancelled out the noise of my anxiety and fear—I felt like a pent up balloon slowly letting out air and expectations. Waiting to meet him was an eternity in a handful of minutes. My husband brought our swaddled bundle around the corner and held him up to my face. He was calm and quiet and perfect. I couldn’t move my arms, but we came up with our own version of a mother-son embrace. Together at last.
#lastpush story written by Megan Kaplan, writer and mother of 4 we adore. Thank you for sharing this tremendous and sweet moment in your life! xo