seven weeks with anabel

 I have had a hard time starting this post time and time again, so I am going to allow myself to just write what's on my heart - even if the larger part of me is afraid of over sharing. 

First and foremost, these words are for me.

Anabel has been with us for seven weeks now, and that is just about how long it has been since I have written in this space. So much has happened between her birth and now. In hindsight, they have been the best weeks in all my life. During - I struggled. I don't think a lot of people talk about the hard parts enough. The postpartum hormones are very real. Add that to a refluxing, very sad newborn, and the grief I experience after her traumatic birth - I was quite honestly a mess. Exhausted and (unexplainably) sad. Living in survival mode. 

The story of her delivery is very sacred to us, so I do not think I'll ever share it in full publicly, however, I think it is important to write down and remember the trials (just as much as it is to write about the joy). 

Anabel was born without a pulse. Her cord strangled her to the point of coding, she passed meconium in distress, and would have died had I pushed for a minute longer than 30 minutes. Due to a severe hemorrhage and a fever, I was only able to hold her for about a minute before I was wheeled away into the OR for several hours. I felt broken without her. Like I was missing a limb.

Laboring before her delivery is one of the best memories I have. It was such an exciting, happy fifteen hours (the team on call, and the people I invited to be there were angels on earth), but I'd be lying if I said I didn't struggle with her delivery afterward, upon realizing how terribly close we were to losing her. Even though she is thriving now, I truly had to go through each stage of grief. 

In seven weeks, there has been a lot of healing and acceptance. Through long sleepless nights, battling breastfeeding, an inconsolable baby, never leaving our house, trial-ing and error-ing, getting in a routine - only for things to change a day later. 

Motherhood is hard. 

But you know what? When my daughter giggles in her sleep, or recognizes my face and greets me with a massive gummy smile, or she looks up at me as she feeds with those shining blue eyes. When she sleeps beside me all throughout the night, still and beautiful, squeaking and snoring. When her fluffy red hair curls after a bath. When she kicks wildly in delight, and I can hear the happiness in her dove-like cooing. When I see her with her father, and my mother. Seeing her in my grandparents arms, and in the arms of the other souls I have come to love in my lifetime. When I held her as she slept soundly throughout her very first flight, and heard my husband give her the sweetest blessing in front of my grandparent's congregation.

Even in the crevices of the trying moments. 

That is when peace floods in. That is when I am reminded how much I am loved by a God that is bigger than worry, and struggle, and pain. I am loved by a giant God. Her little life has brought purpose and fullness, and I sit here today with a grateful heart. 

Motherhood is hard.

  Of course it is. 

Because there is nothing in this world more rewarding.