Let me start off by saying unraveling some of these memories is still very fragile. I started this project primarily because it was something I felt led to do. Our journey has been hard, but God has been faithful. This post was long overdue mostly because it was hard to sit and reflect on every detailed memory I have of this day, from the playlist playing in the background as I pushed my daughter out to the numbness I felt seeing my baby get relocated to the NICU seconds after holding her. So, forgive me and bare with me; here goes nothing.

The hours that led to the hour of Hannah’s arrival felt so magical, supernatural even. The thought of getting induced terrified me because of all the possible things I was told could go wrong. I was ready for this to be a long stretch. Ironically enough, within 2 hours of being induced, my water had broken on its own and my nurse was shocked. See this is the thing, God really kept me and I’m sorry for those who perhaps get overly saturated with “Jesus talk” but He’s the part in all of this I have to emphasize the most. Months before we got to this moment, many had no idea our family was going through it. Although it didn’t always feel this way, He gave us peace, He gave us joy, and most of all, He gave us hope. The moment was here and I didn’t have room in my mind to think anything could go wrong.

10 a.m. came and it was game time. Looking back, I realized that around this time a couple of nurses and doctors began entering our room. Considering this was my first time in labor, I didn’t know whether this was normal or not, so I went with it. Our nurse gently came near me and told me that after examining the baby, she would more than likely be transferred to the NICU depending on what went down after she was out. I didn’t believe her. I felt such peace and reassurance that God wouldn’t bring us all this way and not come through.

Push… Push… Push…

June 4th, 12:03 p.m. my body suddenly felt as light as ever. My eyes instantly drowned in tears. My baby was here. Head full of hair and screaming at the top of her lungs. That sound, feeling her presence in the room, this feeling is like nothing I had ever experienced. Magical. After soaking up the moment, my eyes shifted to take a better look at her. It was in that instant, that my tears suddenly shifted gears, and where happy tears fell, now fell tears of defeat. Despite these emotions we were struggling to cope with, one thing we knew for sure was that we adored this child now more than ever. But as a believer, it seemed that the blocks of hope and faith that had kept us afloat these 9 months had begun to tumble over.

My husband and I shared a moment together where there were no words. For a moment, we just stared at one another and with this simple gesture, we tried to consolidate one another, but it seemed as though we were frozen in time. It was the fear of not knowing what lay ahead. The narrative we had created was no longer reliable and there was no telling if something else was wrong.

No one can prepare you for the moment you see a baby in an incubator. Believe me, I tried to mentally prepare myself as I limped my way over down the hall to the NICU. My momma bear senses were triggered and I couldn’t handle being another moment without my baby. Half of my body was still asleep from the epidural but my heart was racing as I walked over to my daughter’s bedside. I sat in the chair they pulled up for me, held her hand, and immediately fell apart. I’m sorry I told her. Im so sorry Hannah.