The Story of | Hope

I stared hard at the white sheets on the bed in front of me. No way was I getting up on that thing. Not now. 

Nothing to hold, no way to run —

It stabbed again, with no hope of release. I felt myself draw inward. Frozen, trembling in the blinding fury of this hurt, yet shrinking slowly into myself. The dark, quiet place where my thoughts were loud and all encompassing. Nothing but the raging pain and those loud, knowing thoughts.

It never occurred to me that I couldn’t do this. Like it or not, do or die, this was happening. Here. Now. I wasn’t doing it - it was doing me. Somehow though, I knew I had to say something to let somebody know; stay out of that quiet torment deep inside. 

“I’m going to die.” 

It helped a little.

“Twenty more minutes and we’ll have a baby.” She was too cheerful. The Doctor seemed like some kind of shrew. I should have been happy. But the idea of this for twenty more minutes was insanity. There were nurses in the room, my sister was with them somewhere…everything blurred again, all but the pain, the thoughts, and Ethan’s quiet hand in mine. 

“Please God, don’t let it be much longer..” 

And it wasn’t. 

The quiet, pleading little cry came gently, and my heart melted with the receding tension. Tears choked my throat. There she was, warm and helpless on my chest. The room was still a blur. I saw little, comprehended little except for her and Ethan beside me. It was over. Done. She was here.

Hope Adrielle. Hope of God’s people. 

In all the articles and posts by natural-minded women, there’s a buzzword where it comes to how they feel after labor. “EMPOWERED.” Wrong one. I lay there weakly; completely wrung dry of all strength. The only words that describe what this birth was really like is Hebrews 11:34 “Who out of weakness were made strong.” 

I had made a list of things that I really hoped for in labor - mostly, that it would be fast. Not so fast that we couldn’t make the 45 minute drive to the hospital, but still fast.  All in all, the labor was about four hours, and we were only at the hospital for 45 minutes before she was born. Just a little reminder that you can still “Ask what you will.” 

Today our Hope is one month old. We’re in love with our two little girls and the happiness they bring to every day. Lots of snuggles, kisses, “dikuw-dikuws” (Haven’s interpretation of “tickle-tickle”) and, of course, double the hair bows. Life is sweet. 

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The Story of | Hope