25 years ago

So, yesterday was a weird day. All day long I kept thinking something was off. Then I figured it out! As I was changing poopy diapers, wiping a boogie nose and chasing my little man around, I thought about the day my mommy life began. 25 years ago! You see, our oldest son turned 25 yesterday. I thought about the new mommy dreams I had. I was going to be the best mom ever! My kids were always going to happy, healthy and clean! I was going to do all the cool mom stuff with them and I would be the mom all the kids in the neighborhood loved! Unfortunately, reality sometimes isn't quite what our dreams are made of.

25 years ago, I held this tiny, wrinkly baby in my arms and cried. He hadn't quite cooked long enough in me and as he struggled to breath, so did I. I watched helplessly as his chest sunk in to his backbone with each breath. Everything had been a nightmare from the moment we walked into the hospital. After more than 24 hours of trying to stop the contractions, our baby was born. I will never forget those tense moments of his birth as the doctors and nurses tried valiantly to get him to take his first breath. The room was silent except for the doctor's fervent "breath baby!". I didn't even know I had been blessed with a boy until they rushed him off to the nursery and the nurse leaned over to tell me it was a boy. For a moment, I was left alone in the room as everyone else worked frantically on my baby in the nursery. Jay had even gone to be by his son's side. I lay there in confusion and shock, crying and pleading with my Heavenly Father to help my baby. In those moments, I remember bargaining with God that if He would save our son, I would do everything in my power to be His servant. I promised Him that I would be the best mom I could possibly be if I could just have the chance. I had no idea what it really meant to be a mom but my heart was already cemented in love for this child. When I was finally taken in to see him after he had been stabilized, I saw this tiny shriveled baby. He was bruised all over from his head to his toes. His eyes were swollen and purple, his head had a big swollen hematoma and had marks from the forceps. He lay there limp and lifeless as he exerted all his strength to simply breathe. I couldn't even hold him. I wanted to wake up from this nightmare. He was given a special blessing by his father and grandfather that he would be well and strong. Eventually the decision was made to transport him down to a bigger hospital that could take better care of him. I felt as if I hadn't had a baby afterall. It had only been a short year before that we had lost our first baby and it felt eerily similar. Once again, I had gone into the hospital and came out without a baby in my arms.

Obviously, everything turned out great and that tiny little baby grew into a big old man. I learned a lot from that peanut. Sometimes I feel sorry for him because, as all firstborn know, he was my trial run. I learned how to be a mom with him and more importantly, I learned I wasn't the perfect mom who always did all of the coolest things. I made mistakes. Lots of them! And despite all of that, he loves me. He's my miracle for surviving not only those first few weeks of life but surviving my pitiful attempts to be a mom.

With each child since, I have learned more about myself. I've learned it's ok to not be perfect. Kids are resilient, thank goodness, and even forgiving. I have a houseful of forgiving souls! That new mom, so many years ago, had no idea what was ahead of her but this mom, today, is so incredibly thankful for all those mom experiences. Even the poopy diapers and boogie noses!